your touch put language on my skin. you read my goosebumps as if they were passages in Braille. a hand against the small of my back was enough of a siren call for me. we’d sit and watch the people pass by but they weren’t ordinary to us. a man on a two-wheeled chariot, on his way to deliver an important parcel to the princess. children playing on a hastily scrawled hopscotch grid on the playground by the fountain, trying with bated breath to narrowly escape the lava. a couple of sparrows flitting to and fro, little dragons disappearing into the forest. we’d remark casually about these little instances we noticed and amidst it all I still happened to see the gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke about her. a small but fleeting gleam that made me shiver because I’m well acquainted with that sparkle and that tone of voice. I was scared you’d leave, that I was inadequate, that the stories we’d unfurled just based on our surroundings only existed in the realm of that moment. the kisses you left on my face and the cadence of our breathing only transient tokens of the day. you, just a book I’d have to put back on the shelf because I wasn’t allowed to keep it. restricted. instead of sighing I half chuckled. “I’m sure she’d find it funny too.” I know the story too well by now. I scratched at my collarbone, the place where you’d last left a breath. my body stirred because you turned a page and skimmed over more Braille. and we moved effortlessly into chapter 4.