What, dear god, am I doing?

He’s the human embodiment of sexual tension.

He is slow jazz music; a saxophone solo walking lonely in the night.

She is the wind in the chimes on the front porch of home on a summer day. Her face is such poetry; to look upon it would kill Shakespeare on the spot.

He kisses the bridge of her nose. He kisses her sometimes in places people would not find romantic but when he does it, it is; because his love can be seen and felt. Even when he wasn’t sure himself that it was love yet.