ᴄɪʟʟɪᴀɴ

It’s silent conversations held in the form of looks that linger and hold so much weight it weighs on the eyes, of a single purposeful touch disguised as an accident, of fingers laced together like vines, hidden under tables, behind backs. It’s what you say don’t you don’t speak.

Love softens all your sharp edges, makes you pliant, makes you soft, shapes your mouth into a permanent ‘yes.’ It’s no wonder we bend so easily, give in so prettily; it’s no wonder we break so thoroughly when it goes wrong.