Muse 90: Position

credit via lauryn holmquist

"I've discovered something new today," I said. We sit across from each other in a way that won't annoy single people by looking like clingy lovers. Our hands are barely touching, and it feels nice this way. A bit like we're a secret that keeps people guessing. You look up with a brightness in your eyes and go, "Yeah? What'd you learn?" And, of course I have it in my purse, I pull out a Cosmopolitan magazine and show you the article about sleeping positions. There are quite a few, but we quickly point out that I sleep in the foetus position and you sleep like a yearner. And I don't like the fact that I'm apparently sensitive on the inside and the tough exterior is just a mask, but you laugh it off and comfort me. "Think about it this way. I'm the stubborn yearner that doesn't change their mind, and I chose you." Then you take the magazine and rip out the page saying its ridiculous because we don't sleep alone and our position together works out just fine.

Muse 77: Air City

found via weheartit

It was only mid-October. The skies were clear, no hint of dusty grey or murky yellow, and not a single cloud in sight. We stared at the sky while we rested on our backs, loving the way the sun didn't blind our eyes. You were beside me, so close and barely touching, and my neck craned to be close to your shoulder. I swear my neck was cramping up from wanting to rest against you. I wonder what you'll say if I decide to close my eyes and keep you close. You're always near, but never close enough, but then again, you're just enough. I don't need a sunrise or a sunset when I'm with you; just a sky and our hands barely as we point simultaneously at whatever passes. We're barely touching, the intensity caught in my chest - we're barely touching - and there's enough air between our hands to make build a city. 

Muse 68: Pretty for You

found via volatilestructure

Baby you were so beautiful, he said as he held her limp wrists. His fingers could wrap themselves around those bones a thousand times over, like the sorry that wouldn't change a thing. The only spark in her eyes were the ones that burned for him, and they were far from dying. Her pupils glowed brightly with a mischievous quirk that made him love her all the more. Love filled his chest like an oxygen mask, and he reached forward to swipe her ratted blonde hair from her face. The strands felt like hay to his touch, yet she was still beautiful, and those strands could be spun into gold if she tried. He pushed her hair back and his fingers brushed eerily against hard bone. Her body had begun to eat itself out. There was no more of his love to consume.