Fine By Me

Maybe it was the dim light cast from the television screen. Maybe it was our position or the tilt of his head gazing up at me with timid eyes. This expression was the most vulnerable that I had ever seen. This wasn’t the stone-faced façade, the puffed-chested man trying to convince me that he didn’t belong to anyone. It wasn’t the statuesque intellectual gawking into the infinite, taking a drag off a cigarette, lost in his own world. He was an ancient soul with the wisdom of a man and the heart of a boy. In that moment, with that look, I knew I had that heart in the palm of my hand. His eyes were soft and I could see straight through the garden walls that so often shut me out. I could see the miniature galaxies and the enigmas that lie within. These eyes hesitantly begged the question, “Will you?” and all that it implies. It was a troubled question, afraid of an answer and remaining in silence. I dared to ask what he was thinking as my fingers traced his cheek. He snapped an apologetic smile with, “Nothing. Just soaking you in,” sliding a smooth hand down the small of my back. I pressed my lips up against the side of this neck, teasing a trail up his jaw, before whispering, “That’s fine by me.” Whatever this is, and wherever I fit in, is fine by me.

Photo credit: Matt Glm