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I love when you touch me.

I love when you just reach out and graze your fingers upon my skin, as if compulsively reminding yourself that I am there. That I am real.

I love tight hugs from you. As if your affection for me cannot be tamed. As if you want me so close that you crush my ribs and steal my breath. As if you can hold me so close that we could become one.

I love the awe and love in your eyes as your hands explore the body I am ashamed of. The way you smile and drag your fingers along the crevices of my skin.

I love the kisses. On my nose. My forehead. My shoulder. My cheek. The tenderness of pressing your lips to my skin. 

I love your arm around me and your hand swallowing up mine. The open signs that I am yours and you are mine. That you claim me as proudly as a general’s stripes upon his sleeve. 

I love the safety of my face in your shoulder and your hands on my back. How the pain and stress slips away. How I crave that feeling when you are away. How all I need when my pieces are coming unglued is the smell of your shirt pressed against my face and your hands holding me up. 

I love how your touch sends fireworks through my skin and joy through my heart. I love how you hold me. How in your arms, I am invincible and oh so loved. 

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