There was something about her legs.
Neither lean, nor curvy. But long.
Forever bruised, she never knew how.
She’d come back home, and crash on the couch.
feet swollen with all the dancing.
Heels, thrown somewhere.
All through this, mumbling incoherently.. I catch bits and pieces of how tired she is, but how the night was a great success.
I’d then take her legs on my lap and she wouldn’t flinch a bit.
Fit my fingers in the gap between her toes and wiggle them as she slowly drifts to sleep.
Pressing the nail on each toe, tracing the skin of her ankle, caressing the back of her knee. Gently running my fingers over her calf. Her skin etched with new bruises, I’m sure she’d have no idea about.
I’d hug her legs and go to sleep with her knees, snuggled into my stomach. Only to be woken by a sleepy sniff of happiness sometime in the night. And I’d find her sleepily gazing at me. I smile at her as she tries to keep her eyes open a while longer.
And a moment later I realize we didn’t have dinner.. And I feel it’s okay.right now as she smiles back at me, it’s okay. Coz it’d almost be a sin to walk away from something as beautifully intimate as this. With her snuggled so comfortably into me, I’d dare not so much as move a limb.
The staring game ends after I don’t really know how long , as we both doze off a second time, the same night.. Both, holding on to the other a little tighter.
She’s my always.