the things is, i'm not use to being loved in return--
someone telling me i am beautiful just because they can.
i'm use to naked bodies meeting beneath endless waves of worn out linen, but never naked souls.
and maybe that's sad or maybe in a way poetic, but it's all i've ever known.
i'd never been given hand made treasure maps smelling of sweet coffee grounds,
just to find that the treasure waiting at the end, is me.
