She kissed him on the lips.
In grey tones of early mornings, in those spaces where there was distance, she would look at her, and find him more attractive. He was still everything she wanted. When his sulk bled in his mouth, when his voice cracked in her breath, when his eyes danced in her hips, she found happiness. She still wanted more.
She would call when he would lay besides another, and ask if everything was okay. He gave her assurances, gave her love, gave her a sense of stillness. She took them in her embrace, and named her secrets after stars.
He watched while she wrote. She watched while he swum. With ritual uncertainty, they tangled in corners where neither belonged. When she pulled away, he would escape into the shadows, leaving her with his scent, and the promise of something more yet.
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