I have had my fair share of storm chasing, tiptoed ramblings, quiet mournings, reluctant assumptions, and steadied breathing, but this - you and I, and whoever we once thought we were, (almost) together - this is the unbecoming of glorious, floating beds of cloud into continuous, free falling rain. I can smell the washcloth taste of your lips on my skin. Your curious, wandering gaze - I can hear the pauses you take with each breath and enunciation - they are tangible, alarming, and tonight - for the first time in a while - unwelcome.
My bones could break and my skin calloused, but I am terrified that my love for you will never be defeated.
Maybe will be our always.