"you are a character"
that's what he said to me before we fell in love

as I put old beach glass from Anamarie Island against his eyelashes
two infant pieces in front of each eye
and you've got glasses that can see into the past.
a yellow, buttery vision,
soft
blurred
simple
just like I always dreamed the world to be.

on a plane to thailand,
he told me
"thats why I'd like to travel someday--
because of you"
we were pretzels, trying to find a position to sleep
intertwined and drooling,
stared at.

and after brushing sand off of our relatively dry bodies
licking our salty lips with hungry tongues
he told me
"everything about you is special"
and we spent Christmas in the sea
watching as the sun got swallowed by the
relentless tide, feeling the current
push and push us closer
but our heads resist

I remember swearing to myself not to sink into his
arms and feel alright there
but every brush of his hand against
my leg, under the surface of the sea
dissolved my barricades
like a popsicle in July.

and now
I am afraid of the comfort
feeling like
it is pulling the character.