9-14-22 @ 6:13 pm My Touch Is Made Of Glass

“Every time I touch someone, they’ll get hurt”

He looks at me, a touch of shock in the wrinkles of the corner of his eyes, his sharp cheekbones tracing a bit of the surprise, but it faded as quickly as it came. 

“I don't care.”

My head snaps up, the endless loop of his lovely-colored eyes locking with the dull shade of mine, freezing my insides. 

“I don’t think you have a choice. It all depends on where you touch. If it’s a simple caress, you’ll get a bruise on whatever body part you used to touch me. It works both ways, small or big touch. But if you kiss me..”

My voice is shaky, trembling with my organs as he rushes to me, bringing two hands close to my cheeks. Too close to the fact that if I move, the possibility of touching him is definite. It brings a wave of shivers throughout my body, the thought of being to give in as easy as leaning forward, getting a little closer, his lips would be on mine. But I think better of it; I don’t want to get his pretty lips busted any more than I want any other part of him getting damaged. 

“I said I don’t care”, he breathes heavily and caresses my cheeks with his hands. “ I’ll die getting to know what it felt like to touch you. I’ll be able to sleep with you at night and cuddle until I pass away. Don’t you want to know what that feels like, y/n? Human touch? The type of human touch that isn’t sent to you in a negative way, and instead makes you feel loved. I will willingly cease to exist just to give you the love you deserve. I love you. I love you. I love-” and he cuts himself off to touch me. To touch all of me, and gently mixes his lips with mine. I lose my mouth in his, gasping from this overwhelming feeling. I want to pull away, I need to. He’ll die. He’ll die. Die. He’ll die, I remind my body, even as it fits perfectly in the mold of his hands, even as he deepens the kiss. You’ll regret it I blare all the alarms my mind has, but I’m afraid I already lost myself and taking the risk to lose himself with me. 

.                                                                                          .                                                                                  .

“Miss/Mr y/n, will you please stand to give your last partings to him?” I flinch at my name as I rise from my seat. “Yes, father” my black heels click as I hurry on to see him. To see y/n. “My love” a sob hitches in my throat, but before I could cry, I realize something as I loom over him. “Who brought him daffodils? Tell me now! He’s allergic to those!! His favorites are [ insert flower here. In my case it’s Lotus]! He loves those, how dare you disrespect him, even in death” I breathe heavily, trying to capture a breath. I’m so sorry, my love. I can’t even defend you as you lie there so beautifully, even after all the broken bones and bruises you took for me.