I don't want to tell you that I love you.
The word "love" terrifies me.
The concept of it tears me apart from inside out, piece by piece.
How could such a small word mean so much?
I don't want to tell you that I love you because I see so much heart break,
but when I take your hand in mine,
as it envelopes the hand that once held a blade to skin,
the feeling that surges through every part of me must mean something.
I've felt the sparks of lust before,
but when your lips press onto mine,
the first thought in my mind that invades my mind isn't to tear your clothes off.
My mouth spreads into a smile across yours,
and the next thing I know I'm pulling you closer to me with the fear of losing you.