Do you remember what you said to me? That afternoon before I found out how deep deep was? I’ll never forget it. You looked at me with eyes full of such emotion, I didn’t know how to react; you’d never shown me that before. Your lure had always been one of composed and beautiful stone. You looked at me and you told me you had something to share with me, something to teach me before you left. “You’re leaving? Why?” You smiled the quietest smile I’ve ever seen on a face so loud and I felt it down to my toes. You leaned toward me, letting my hair brush your face as you whispered, “Put me inside you and I’ll never, ever leave.” My heart rose to my throat, then plummeted to my stomach at your words, and I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or kiss you. That’s when I knew where my fear had been coming from, that’s when I knew why I felt so drawn to you: You had something very important for me. But I wouldn’t understand exactly what until you left me in the comfort of myself for things I knew I’d never fully accept. Like leaving. And obligation. Those things were not a part of my knowledge, but you showed me how to embrace them both without pain.
