Things Dumbledore Did That’d Be Creepy If You Did them
my literal side
and i curve around the words you put there
the night you laid your head in my lap
while i read that book i loved.
the one you said looked boring,
but didn’t stop me from reading
as you wrapped your arms around my body
kissed the spots along my sides,
even though my shirt was in the way,
and i promise you that i wasn’t focusing on words
on a page, but more so on the way i tried to keep
my body from shaking. i was rereading that book
for the millionth - and i do,
i do mean millionth - time. i’m not sure if i realized
then that you were so much more important than when
my favorite character lost her job, not even as i
steadied my breathing and pretended to skim the page
as your fingers skimmed over my skin.
i don’t think that you cared that i wasn’t waiting on you,
on the touch of your skin to mine, of the traces of fire on
my body that made breathing and shaking and spontaneously
combusting so much easier and harder all at the same time.
you pressed your face to the fabric of my shirt and breathed out my name and told me you loved me,
and it wasn’t the millionth time, but i wish it was - i don’t think you know that i was too caught up in you to read, too caught up to breathe, too caught up to realize
that i loved you more than i thought i did at the time.
my body doesn’t burn with your touch anymore, but sometimes
i still find it hard to breathe.
my favorite book isn’t my favorite book.
my name is still my name.
i still find myself wishing for that millionth “i love you” that i’ll surely never get.❞