“I wrote a poem for you.”
Already stunned, I trip over the word poem.A poem? Not a riddle?
Levi’s cheeks redden, and he chews his cheeks at the admission. Amidst my surprise, a sudden pitter patter of emotion squeezes my chest. It takes everything within me not to drag his big body against mine and kiss him. “You did?”
He gives a sheepish nod, not daring to meet my gaze.
My heart skips like a fucking school girl. “I would love it if you read it to me.”
As though in disbelief, Levi’s eyes narrow to slits as he shifts to finally make eye contact. “Abso-lutely-fucking-not. Do I look like a thespian to you?”
Surprised laughter erupts from my chest at his blunt reply.
Levi huffs a laugh shaking his head. A folded piece of paper appears between the index and middle finger of his hand nearest me. He offers it to me as one might a cigarette.
The backs of my fingers graze his as I accept it, and my heart gives a whimsical leap for joy in the process.
After unfoldingthe paper with utmost care, my eyes burn with cloying and irrepressible emotion as I read and reread his poem so many times the words carve themselves into my heart. My soul.
I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze for fear of bursting into tears.
When my mind is lost
When my memories fade
When my heart surrenders to the passage of time
When my flesh returns to the dirt
And my essence to the stars...
My soul will always, always return to yours.
The smackof the first tear upon the paper is a violent sound amidst our held breath.
The second is dulled beneath the song of love humming in my chest.
The third seems to warrant concern.
Levi shifts to angle his body towards me as he slides one hand, hot and clammy—likely with nerves—over my forearm. His resonant voice is barely above a whisper.
“Hey..."
I sniffle in reply.
Sink lower so I may rest my head against his shoulder.
Levi shifts again, draping his arm around my shoulders and tucking me against him.
The silence between us is no longer uncomfortable, but laden with the treasure of what needn’t be said aloud to be heard or felt.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and my eyes slip shut as if trying to block out all other sensation so that I may commit this precious moment to memory.
Still, some insecure part of me can’t help but ask...
“You didn’t write it for Azrael?”
With his cheek resting atop my crown, I feel him shake his head. “No..."