Soaring, Flying

You could be sitting there at my kitchen table studying me while we played cards, and I could see that innocent fifth grade boy with floppy hair singing high school musical songs to me.

Then your arms would be around me so that I could feel every muscle, every valley and edge of your skin, every breath of yours breathed into my own mouth, every twitch in your fingertips reaching for my spine as you braced my back tighter; you would kiss me, and I’d be closer to you than I could have ever imagined being. Yet, I couldn’t recognize the man I had expected. I had lost the child somewhere under your skin, and you were entirely new to me.

But then you’d pull away to tell me that you love me, and there he stood singing his half of the Gabriella and Troy duet.

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