To Fly With Him

That old familiar tug... How does one deny it?

How could I ignore my fascination with the way that his life visibly wisps, swirling from his lips on the days that nip the feeling out of my toes?

He steals the cold, like the sun can eclipse the frost by painting your skin.

Who would believe my pretending that I do not adore the way his eyes glimmer when he looks into mine, or that I could choose to fight the way I bubble over with joy in his presence?

For the way he passes glances to me is the way I slide mine to him.

Shall I lie about the simmering sensation of my insides, or the clenching reaction of my heart to his smile, or the way he resurrects the long-lost feeling of a grade-school crush?

For everyone around me witnesses the heart I try to bury with my sleeve.

Can I erase the nights I have spent observing the ceiling of my bedroom, willing his form to ease silently through my open door and suffocate my loneliness?

Even in my dreams, I cannot escape the thought; the desire.

I would deny my fears just to fly with him one day, though I cannot, since he fears that he would only cause me to fall.