- Carol Rifka Brunt

Press your lips to mine

And breathe stardust into my lungs.

The silence hangs heavy in the air tonight. Angry words echo in the charmber of my mind. I lash out in fury, scraping my teeth against my barbed tongue. Blood fills my mouth, my ears, my head. I want to run. Love forces me to stay. Now here we are—bodies expended, limbs knotted together so tightly that we cannot be pulled apart. I am yours, and you are mine. I watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the tiny flutter of your lashes against your cheek. And I am capsized by a love so fierce that it actually hurts. Your lips twitch, offering a key to your dreams. Curiosity pulls me to lean into you. Go to sleep, you murmur without even opening your eyes. I laugh as I sink against you, my cheek resting over the steady beat of your heart. You press a gentle kiss to the crown of my head, and I settle into the soft layers of my dreams. All is well.

My entire body vibrates with excitement. I have been counting down the days, minutes, seconds until you are standing in front of me in the flesh. Your voice is little more than an echo from the screen, your words a combination of letters only ever read but never heard. I am here. Here I am. You tell me to come up, and I pause outside the door, somehow acutely aware that my life changes the moment I step through it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I wander through the flat until I find you, looking unfairly handsome in your robe and pajamas. There are no pleasantries, no cursory glances as we size each other up. Without a word, without a sound, you have claimed me. I am yours.

There is a delicate balance between perception and privacy—a subtle distinction between what we choose to share and the sanctity and intimacy of a relationship. We tiptoe along that fine line during a dinner in Berlin. You watch me from the sidelines, content to let me shine. I make the necessary rounds, but I feel your eyes follow me through the crowd. And when I slide into the seat beside you, you lace your fingers against mine, and nothing else exists. It is only us, no one but us. Always us.

There is a map engraved on my skin. A collection of winding roads that traverse battle scars and half-healed wounds. The landscape of the past is plagued with hidden mines and buried versions of myself. Ready to combust. Ready to explode. I tread this ground carefully, never a fraction of a step out of place. One wrong move will send this fragile world crumbling down. There is a light in the distance, accompanied by a familiar melody that stirs deep within me. Hold on, hold on, hold on. We're almost there. And one by one, they come into view. Bright, twinkling stars to guide me home. I am not alone.

Careful digits collect the scattered fragments,
Slowly stitching this heart together
piece by piece.
But the moment you walk into view,
I feel it buckle and pull apart.
This is not breaking.
This is not falling apart.
I am bursting at the seams.
This is love.

If we could speak in feelings,
would you, please, choose only love?

- Alexandra Vasiliu

♡

Make It to Me Alayna Grace Fall into Me Forest Blakk Come on Get Higher Matt Nathanson Every Second Mina Okabe For Once I Can Say Sophia James You Matter to Me Sara Bareilles, Jason Mraz I Guess I'm in Love Clinton Kane Yours Russell Dickerson Love Like This Ben Rector Home is Where the Heartbreak Is Gone West

You stand with your back to me, spine as straight as a rod forged of steel. You stare absently out the window, unaware of my presence and completely immersed in the world of your thoughts. Melancholy radiates off you in undulating waves. I am too young to understand, but somehow I recognize what I see. Heartbreak. I softly clear my throat to stir you from the reverie. You turn to face me, a smile playing at the corner of your unpainted mouth. Are you sad, Mummy? I ask, my tiny voice unsure and afraid. You envelope me in your arms and shake your head. Never. I have you.