Southern Comfort Mountain Man

He consumes my entire heart like a wave greedily carrying out the shore and all the treasures buried inside of it.

He predicts me - in all of my unpredictability - he reads me like a Sunday paper, smudging through crisp, inky pages. Scanning, gathering all of the important information then holding it inside his vault-like heart.   

He knows my every irrational insecurity. He senses my sadness from contactless distance and he makes me smile through years of salty tears with just a few words.   

Southern Comfort.   

Mountain Soul.   

He fits me like a custom made glove, so different from my skin yet such a perfect fit. Stitched together so neatly, tightly — gently.    

Southern Comfort.   

Mountain Man. 

He has my heart in the palm of his hands.