your words flow through me like a warm liquid. the way it feels when you take a sip of warm tea and it fills you with warmth, all the way down your throat, esophagus, and into your stomach. the words, they drag on, they mean so much, they make me feel privileged. I am blindly aware that I am their only recipient, and so I hold onto them, tightly, and with greed. subtle attempts have me trying to hear more, receive more. I see them, and in turn, I see you. I treat them like a fragile newborn baby, like a doe in the woods that you don't want to startle. that if startled, would look at you, head on, and then turn, and run, run fast, run away. maybe you should run away, but if you do, don't take your words. they are warm when you are cold. they reveal you, complex, real, emotional, beautiful. so if one day I startle you, leave your words. I will take care of them, I promise.
