Romance / General

I loved to touch him - never in a sexual way, never anywhere other than his face, his hands, his obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks. His warmth would seep into my being and he comforted me without ever opening his mouth. I'd melt into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl, like I belonged next to him, like he belonged next to me. And each time before we parted the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.

By hunter, July 3, 2016*.