Our friendship was pure trust: enjoying the same things, enjoying each other’s pleasure.
Then, from our chrysalid friendship, the butterfly emerged.
Wrapped around one another for warmth, we’d watched stars emerge until the cold won. Back at her home, the world disappeared behind soft veils of awkward lovers, the first-time-shy hesitance that we allowed ourselves to drown in.
Her eyes were a well that drew me in and nourished my soul, her lips were promises of mystery and her hands were a guide, a protection and a balm.
We were one.
And I knew I was finally home.