It feel wrong.
Wanting to hold you, not just a pat, a true embrace, not like friends, like more.
It felt wrong, that he knew all your pouts, the way you frown when you're focused, how your eyes shine when you're excited, how you always scratch the inside of your palm when you're stressed.
It feel wrong
To want to run his rough hands all over your body, to want to caress your cheeks, to count the number of freckles on your face, to look into your eyes, to discover every ounce, every different color of your eyes.
It feel wrong
He is a man, as you are, too old for that.... He didn't believe in God, but he prayed for a sign to be fixed. But every prayer gave him a bittersweet taste.
Deep down he didn't want to change, it feel wrong, but comforting. Maybe love wasn't too harsh, that he can dream, of something, something happy, something right.
A bouquet of pink peonies, signs of sweet love, since all he feels towards you is sweetness. He rings your doorbell, hands trembling, as you open it and see him with a bouquet in his hand, you smile slightly, your cheeks taking on the hue of the flowers. For once his face is bare to your gaze, letting you see closely his sharp manly feature, the scars that cross his face.
"I was wrong, loving you didn’t feel wrong, it feel warm, sweet, right, it feel right ... Can you allow me to love you? I know it took me time, but it's you I want, please ... " Says Simon, his hazel eyes, shining with vulnerability, his hands shaking slightly