maybe married to the idea of not.

There's something about something slight, isn't there? Something about someone quite and quiet, and gentle, and despite. And he was. He never said anything, so much so that it compelled you to be good -- how could you be anything else to someone so permitting. 

It's the little things, really. It's what he wears on his wrists and how he tilts his head, and the way he semi-smiles and awkwardly laughs with you -- all the uncertain agreement that comes with the company. It's in the way he wears his shirts and the unknowing; there's an unintentional charm shadowed in that. All the cringes and crumples his mouth made. 

You kind of just want to build him a cave, a safe little corner in the midst of the noise of everything else. Push the world away; come sleep in my arms, I will gladly have you. Play host to a guest that will ask for nothing more than bits and pieces of you. And out of sheer consideration, you will give all you have. 

+++

These people are real, right? It's not just me conjuring up some imaginary population of people? Come closer, let me see. That's okay, we'll fix you up in a bit. Come sit your tired soul and sleep awhile.