you give her half-love and speak in half-truths, never fully showing your hand.
you know this means that you will lose her, to the magic and moonlight, because she is a sweet summer breeze, that first sip of whiskey, warming up your insides and setting your cheeks on fire, the lullaby of a violin in a dark country bar.
she moves too much, is moved too much, but that’s her appeal – because she is a surprise party on-the-go, with eyes that light the night sky and lips that are just for you.
but you hold back – and it stills her.
