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Before we could comprehend each other's eyes,
when we were children,
we would crawl into small spaces
and not be afraid, because we had found a secret that no one else cared for,
and therefore provided an escape
from this world
into that of the small space.
Our knees were always dirty, and
our hands covered in cuts and magic kisses from our mothers---
bruised elbows and bare feet.
This was before we fell in love---
when friends came and went
and we did not cry for such losses.
This was before we learned that the kisses don't do anything,
and that it's improper to have dirty knees and bare feet.
Now we waltz in our
and gaze into each other's close-to-adult eyes,
and partly comprehend what we see.
Now we cry at every loss
and never crawl into small spaces,
because we become agitated with not enough room to breathe.
It is a wonder, then, that we can stand being wrapped in blankets
and so many thoughts and theories
about what we see in the eyes of the person we love most in the world---
one gets claustrophobic
with such little room to breathe a scent other than his, or hers…
I love you, but I think we need to stop, now.