[ In fact. The bulk of his texts range from the innocuous 'You up :) ?' to unsolicited personal photos to - recently - an increasingly vitriolic string of messages from Mr. My Kid's Birthday. This last ended in two words, unrepeatable in polite conversation.
(He's going to remember that. Just for a rainy day.)
Desmond, though. It's hard to believe these messages are real.
It's hard to believe what he feels is shared. This wonder, this warm contentedness.
This - hm. Affection. 'Affection' is a good, cautious word. ]
If I told you I didn't realize I'd stopped dreaming, would you believe me?
The thing is. I can't say I had a romantic view of you once I got past your eyes. You had bedhead like anyone else, we both needed a shave and some Listerine, and say what you want about light and honey and dreams, but I saw me in the mirror: I had a crease from the pillow down the side of my face.
The whole waking up business smacked of reality.
[...]
It was everything I could have asked for. Give me one morning like that instead of a thousand perfect nights. Give me the mess of waking up, as long as it's with you. I've spent enough time playing fantasy; I'm ready for a little reality.
[...]
You were still beside me. Still on my tongue. Still willing to come to my arms when I reached for you.
no subject
[...]
Sorry. [...] No one [...] texts me that way.
[ In fact. The bulk of his texts range from the innocuous 'You up :) ?' to unsolicited personal photos to - recently - an increasingly vitriolic string of messages from Mr. My Kid's Birthday. This last ended in two words, unrepeatable in polite conversation.
(He's going to remember that. Just for a rainy day.)
Desmond, though. It's hard to believe these messages are real.
It's hard to believe what he feels is shared. This wonder, this warm contentedness.
This - hm. Affection. 'Affection' is a good, cautious word. ]
If I told you I didn't realize I'd stopped dreaming, would you believe me?
The thing is. I can't say I had a romantic view of you once I got past your eyes. You had bedhead like anyone else, we both needed a shave and some Listerine, and say what you want about light and honey and dreams, but I saw me in the mirror: I had a crease from the pillow down the side of my face.
The whole waking up business smacked of reality.
[...]
It was everything I could have asked for. Give me one morning like that instead of a thousand perfect nights. Give me the mess of waking up, as long as it's with you. I've spent enough time playing fantasy; I'm ready for a little reality.
[...]
You were still beside me. Still on my tongue. Still willing to come to my arms when I reached for you.
The sun was up, and you were still mine.