deepundergroundpoetry.com

Eighteen

He kissed me in the rain a few months ago, and I swear to god, in that moment, I fell in love with him so much, in such a way that it took my breath away.
When he makes love to me, he is slow with his movements; as if i'd melt away if he didn't. When he is kissing his way down my stomach, he makes sure to comment on how beautiful i am, no matter where we are; he always tells me i'm beautiful, he says it so much, and so often that sometimes I think he is trying to instill the love he has for me, into the caverns of my lungs, so that hopefully i'll believe it, too.

He told me he wants to marry me someday last night, as he held me inside of our bed, his arms wrapped around me like vines tethering me unto the earth.
I smiled back at him, and all I could do was smile, and kiss him; as if I hadn't been wanting to say the same thing for weeks now, the secret withering under my tongue like a weed shying away from sunlight.

We talked about how many children we wanted last night, after he made love to me.
Our bodies against each other, like perfect puzzle pieces made for each other.
We picked out names and giggled at the ideas and possibilities; and in that moment, My eighteen year old self was glad she decided to stick around, that maybe life isn't so bad. That i'm glad I didn't end it at sixteen, eighteen and twenty.