I believe in soul mates, but

I don’t think we used to walk around on four legs before being divided, 

searching for our other halves. 

I don’t think we have a stone inside our hearts that only fits with one other’s. 

And I know we are two pieces of the same soul puzzle, but

how can we be the only pieces?

How do you not feel the weight of your shattered soul, 

a million tiny pieces hiding in all corners of the earth that you have to uncover to feel whole?

How can that just be me?

And you smell like pine needles and kaffa lime leaves and water. 

Life source. 

Tonight you are the rain caressing the city skyline, 

spreading into every expanse, 

simultaneously filling me up and washing me clean. 

You are the protector of precious things, and 

tonight that gets to be me.

Life source and life bearer. 

Did we create the universe last night?

And in the past fingertips have felt like fire against my skin, but

with you it feels like home.

And now I realise that maybe I don’t want to feel flames licking my arms and back; 

maybe I don’t want to burn. 

Maybe I want to be home. 

I slip off my shoes, and

crawl in to your heart.

Your arms are warm, and 

smell faintly of smoke like my personal smudge stick, and 

are so soft. 

I run my finger tips over your own, and 

I’m brought back to 17, 

when I loved like I’d never get hurt because I never had been hurt. 

You show me the balcony. 

The city lights. 

The line of the main-street street-lights as far as I can see. 

I feel golden in their glow as rain drips from concrete buildings in the distance.

We lay on the couch watching movies at 3am and you touch my skin like it is something precious. 

You live in the perfect space between inhale and exhale, and 

I want you in my lungs so I can remember to keep my heart open.

For a second I recall the idea of a matching pair of soul stones as our bodies fit together. 

Have I known you for a thousand years? 

Have we done this before a million times?

And,

I don’t think I’ve ever actually felt a tattoo before but yours feel like my scars, and

I want to be the song that’s wound around your skin.