He has a way to touch my lips that gives me shivers.
I feel his thumb brushing towards my lower lip, so light, and yet so warm, and soft.
And I bet he feels my lips pressing on it with a kiss. I bet he does, and that he smiles (you have no idea how enchanting he is, when he smiles).
I always cuddle with him with my eyes shut, because touch has a poetry and a mistery that just doesn’t need to be seen.
I know he likes me more than he says, I know it well, and that in spite of what he wants me to think, he cares. A lot.
A man who didn’t care wouldn’t look me in the eyes like he just saw the sun rising, or kiss me like the most delightful thing ever, or brush his chin over my hair so tenderly, or rub his nose against mine like we were a couple of kittens.
A man who didn’t care wouldn’t be so carefully hiding what he feels.
I know it.
Because we’re just the same, and I keep hiding as well how hard i’m falling for him.