┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘-𝐎𝐍-𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄
the epigraph

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

it's an old story, really:
there's a boy ─ you think you know
how the rest of this goes.

he has sea-storm eyes and
the bones under the skin of his wrist
are the most graceful you've
ever seen.
you'd like to plant flowers at
the juncture of his neck
and shoulder and set
stars into every vertebrae of
his spine.

the story goes: your eyes meet,
your hearts jump, true love.
every second sinking into the way your hand finds his.

disambiguation.
love rises, crests, plateaus.
a steady, burning ache.
he denies it, the way scared boys tend to.
finds excuses to be away
from the way you make
him feel.

love is not for everyone.
there's a certain kind of courage
in allowing yourself to fall.

(he's only ever known
how to fly.)

(e.h.)