You are not Jacob.
At least not how he—how we—ended up.
You aren’t ever-changing hairstyles and big brown eyes. You are not
fearful to confess how you feel about me.
You aren’t revealed to be clenched hands and ignorant screams telling me
to get over it. You aren’t falling asleep together on the way home.
But hopefully you are (and stay)
goofy smiles and patient hands, warm and welcoming arms, a thousand moments
spent holding each other because there was nothing else to hold onto, someone
who has my complete and utter trust.
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