You called me, hurting, and even curled in someone else's arms I don't know how not to answer you, how not to soothe you. I know my voice is sharp sometimes when you are hurting but it is fear for you that sharpens it, and not anger.
And today, today I saw you again, your shortened hair making your face seem masculine but your smile a thing of beauty. We danced around it for over an hour, you made me food and we sat around on the couch chatting until you finally created the excuse to go upstairs and asked directly, "Do you want to cuddle?"
I was going to say, "No." I knew I should say no.
I knew I shouldn't wrap my arms around you and fill my lungs with your spicy-sweet scent, shouldn't tempt both of us, shouldn't risk hurting either of us.
I opened my mouth to say, "No."
"Yes," I said, instead.
Yes.
ShitfuckGoddesshelpmeIstillwantyoufuckfuckfuckyou'renotmineanymorepleasegivemestrength.
Yes.
My body wrapped around yours, your warm breath against my skin, the bittersweet familiarity of your body pressed against mine, the soft needing kisses to my chest and shoulders, fuck it's hard.
No one else balances me so well, complements me so well, knows my masculinity and expresses their own feminity so perfectly.
No one else offers the same perfect acceptance of my own gender and dynamic fluidity as yours.
I love the boys in my life. All of them, more than they will ever know.
But this, this thing with you, it's different and it clicks into place in my heart and it fits so perfectly that it hurts and my eyes are filling with tears even as I'm kissing you back, my hands moving to you wrists, your too-short hair, your throat, curving around your waist until only the stinging of the tears in my eyes brings me back to myself.
It was a mistake to come see you, but one I couldn't have not made.
But when you go all I know is you're my favorite mistake...
-Sheryl Crow
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