Pause

It’s the pause in between the long kisses. Then I look in your eyes, and I see a glint of something growing in you (and no, it’s not that thing down there).

I know because I feel it, too. And I wish—how I damn wish—that I can put that feeling in a box, seal it tight, put it at the most convenient spot in my heart, so I can easily open it whenever I want to, whenever my short temper rouses me to anger, whenever I’m feeling impatient… whenever, well, whenever the bad in me gets the best of me.

We’re a long way ahead, but something’s telling me that those pauses, the knowing smiles, the lump in my throat—that’s a great place to start as any.