Because I wanted to be burned, stamped, to have something in the end— I peeked at you; a pink flush tinting my face and shoulders. It ran its course, the course of fire, setting a path to the depths in between and to our souls.
You bent over me; your hand caressing my face as though you had felt it too — you must have known then, how I wanted you. Two more chaste kisses and a breakfast later, our bodies separated while our souls held hands.
Friends and parties, we went through the motions. Four years and counting, I bend over you; my hand caressing your face as I know you feel it too, how I want you.
And we will always know that, you and I. Though we sign our lives together in a pact, our hands intertwined; our souls know better. The proof will be our bodies.
