It's because of the licorice

"All I ask of you
just open up a little bit more..."

Lightning strikes again.  And again.  And again.  I thought I broke the streak this morning, unwittingly, unintentionally.  But it sparked back up again tonight.  Tonight little embers caught fire.  It felt like before.  It felt like new. 

All of the lectures I've received, all of the scoldings, the disappointed glances, the shaking of heads.  The total lack of comprehension for what the hell I continue to do with this person.  It all fades into the background, growing dimmer the more we talk.  The more I get tangled up in the web of him.  I have all of this awareness, this caution, this resolve..until I don't.

I actually have shivers.  Smiles I can't suppress.  That I don't want to suppress.  Screw it.  

All I ask of you, just open up a little bit more....and if I do it right, if I'm careful, but not too careful, he does.  For whatever reason, I can feel his need for me the last few days.  He keeps getting pulled back to me of his own accord, confiding little pieces of himself each time, barely noticeable.  I'm not even doing anything.  I'm just there, just me.  Nothing different.  Nothing more, nothing less.

I got a picture from him tonight.  I have actual physical reactions to pictures of him.  My stomach flips.  I get sincere shivers, and the idea of him and how he feels is tangible to me in that moment.  I remember how soft his hair is to run my hands through.  The piercing, see straight through me gaze.  The way he smells clean and delicious even though he doesn't wear cologne. The mischievous, sexy smile that I would wager every possession I have on being sincere and true, even if he would never admit it outside of the moment.

I remember with almost painful clarity how careful and tender his touch is.  I always remember that specifically, because that touch completely blows to pieces this idea that he is always detached or weird or emotionally broken beyond repair.  He may be all of those things in some measure.  But inside of him somewhere is that person who touches my face so carefully, one hand on each side, like it is fragile, like it is precious, who draws my face to his for kisses that feel like every best moment I've ever had in my life times three, tied up in the most complicated and fantastic bow.

The below is an excerpt from our actual conversation tonight.  Almost the very beginning of it. This is the kind of interaction we sometimes have.  Frequently have.  It makes no sense to anyone but us, and sometimes not even that.  It is illogical, nonsensical, random, crazy.  And I love it.  Logic and rationale and history be damned.  These are things I will remember, these wonderfully dysfunctional and strange moments.

11:57 PM him: shush

 me: you

11:58 PM him: i love you

 me: it's because of the licorice

12:00 AM him: yup