I just want to hold him for hours. So tightly that all the anxiety comes out of every pore, releases into the room, clouding it for a quick moment, and is carried away into the aether by the angels he doesn't believe in.
Then there will be nothing filling his body except for love. My ruined arms aren't good for much, but that's one thing I know they're capable of doing.
Just squeezing until they hurt.
They're playing love songs on the radio tonight.
- Sunlight through the blinds.