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I stroke his blue hair and kiss his cheeks, and he sighs, pulling my leg over his, kissing my hair. His sweat smells of spice, his release smells of deep dark water. He feels like safety and sunlight and warmth.
He feels like home.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” I whisper, trailing my fingertips over his smooth jaw, his broad cheekbones, wiping away the faint trails of tears.
He huffs. “You don’t have to.”
“But I do. I love you more than the plants love the sun, more than the tides respect the moon, more than the birds love to fly, more than the moles like to burrow. I love you more than the flowers love the dew and more than the children love to play, I love you—”
He kisses me, laughing. “I love you even more.”
“You can’t. It’s not possible.”
“Then let me prove it to you,” he whispers, kissing me again, softly, then deeply. “For the rest of our lives.”
