04 | io

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i o

he stops by the library where i work and my heart stutters at the sight of him in a beanie and a oversized sweatshirt; i stop putting away books to watch him walk across the room and settle in at a table.

my hair is messy and i am sweaty from working a double shift and yet when i go to help him check out the books he chose his gaze lingers, almost as if i was one of the stars he spends endless nights admiring from afar.

he stays for a while longer and my eyes always wander back to him sitting there at the table, hunched over, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, frown lines creasing his forehead, his fingers tapping against the table as he slowly becomes engrossed in the story he chose, his escape from reality for the day.

part of me wanted him to stay for a while longer, so i can admire those pretty blue eyes, and those canopies of dark-caramel lashes, and those shadows lining his cheekbones but (nothing lasts forever and it's only a matter of time), it gets dark very quickly, so he packs up his stuff and starts to leave.

but he lingers there for a moment. he stays there for a moment, eyes shut in concentration before he walks up to me, wetting his lips, wanting to say something, but he changes his mind a thousand times, before he finally settles on saying a soft "have a good night."

and i offer him a smile (one that widens, especially when his cheeks stain red), saying, "good night."

(and his voice is the only lullaby i need to lull myself to sleep that night.)

(because it really was a good night.)

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