He makes it look so simple

"The same hands that kindle fire and move oceans and release lightning and they’re touching you as if his own heart were in his hands."

It’s different when he does it. Movements like a breeze before the rain, thick and warm and oh so very knowing. He is the final warning before it all comes crashing down, in sheets and waves and gusts that threaten to blow you away. That crumple your clothes against your body like a prison, and you are nothing more than a bird in a cage, crying in his living room. He makes it look so simple, though.

He knows that his smile is sunshine and his laughter is thunder and his rage is strong enough to break this world like an egg against a skillet; he knows and you know that he does. And he knows that you love it when his hands cradle your face like it is the most delicate thing he’s ever touched, his thumb grazing skin as if he’s caressing the feathers of a frightened bird. Soothing and hesitant, frightened and aware. The same palms that kindle fire and move oceans and release lightning and they’re touching you as if his own heart were in his hands.

And every night you watch him pick stars from the sky as if he were plucking flowers from a field, cupping them in his palm for you to marvel over. He paints your name into clouds and etches your face across galaxies, all because he knows you both love it. You can’t move mountains or control weather or alter reality for him, but you can leave love letters and gifts and surprises and you know he loves that even more than any of those things.

He makes love look so different than what you’re used to, and he makes being in love look so very, very simple.