His hands are rough like two files. Full of memories, of struggle, of past. But when he touches me his hands are as light as clouds, dancing in the sky, stopping and kissing every star that lays on my body.

I’ve never felt like this before. I laid my head on his chest, never been so close to home in ages. He smells like the beach, like sand, the sun, the ocean… and a little bit like me. His hair feels like the wind running through my fingers. And I feel the breeze, the waves, and peace in his curly hair, while we talk about so many dreams and hide so many fears.

And he kisses me and his chin feels like little grains of sand falling on my chest. His lips taste like strawberries and honey. I’ve never felt like this before; so close, so far, so happy, and so sad.

Our bed so infinite, it feels like we are lying on our own love or on those same clouds of his hands. And his words are mockingbirds repeating every promise, every dream, and every apology.

And as mockingbirds, the sounds start to fade away. And the clouds leave the sky. And there are no more waves, no more oceans, and no more kissing the stars full of honey. And your chest doesn’t feel like home anymore. And I don’t find peace in your curly hair. And we’re not infinite, we’re just one more memory on your rough hands.

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