He always held her hand a little bit tighter
Stared a little bit longer, always the last to look away
He would count every strand when twirling her hair
and then start again when he lost his place
He saw every bump and bruise, every stretch and scar
and loved them like they were his tattoos
His voice was a type of fix that puts the name-brand-coffee to shame
His chest, a safer wall than the ones that line her house
His arms, telling her to settle down, using his lips for assistance

She believed it
only when he didn't say it.

But every time the words dripped from his tongue,
her hands would shake
Every time it settled in his sighs, she would hide behind
the curtain of her hair
Every time it croaked in his laugh, every bruise got darker
and every old scar stung again

*You are beautiful.