He told me to look at the sky. To watch the moon as it travels with the stars. To see the sky, the moon, and the stars. And to remember, they will always be ours. Our skies.
He watched my face as he took my hand, pulling onto the dance floor. I was scared. I had been hurt so many times, why would he be any different? But he was.
He was gentle, and patient, and sincere. He loved poetry, the way he could put words together in a way that didn't make sense, but he would make you explore how the words made you feel instead. He liked music, but not only the music, but the way the songs could make you feel. How the sound of the beat travels deep into your heart, and never lets go.
I scared me how we were alike, but still so different. How I let him read me like a book when all I want to do snap close. How whenever I get close to him, my heart starts pounding and I get weak at the knees. It frightens me how it feels so great, but it's threatening at the same time. It freezes, but thaws my heart. And it hurts, but heals old scars. He was different, but was different enough?