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Description
When I was presented with you, wrapped up and swaddled in layers as you were, I was not sure what to do with you.

I have never been as unconfident as I was in that moment, confusion overwhelming my senses as I thought, wow, I have no idea what to do.

Presented with you, I was stunned into an incomprehensible state. The possibilities I was presented with completely took over my entire being and I paused, froze up, because I hadn't been placed in a position I had no control over in a long time. Since then I had grown up a lot in a few short years and I had grown to be confident, but not with people, and not with people like you.

People like you that give me this feeling, a feeling of a nervous stomach full of razor winged moths. Razors because they cut into me, leaving lasting silver scars that remind me every day of what it feels like. Not butterflies because they do not have that same ethereal quality I see in moths, how they drug themselves on light. Butterflies are not drawn to the light like I am to you. You're a light in what I perceive to be a completely black room.

So I settle with your middle, fingers barely alighting and I'm not sure even now if you even felt it. I could have been closer and more intimate, but I felt naked beside you in those swathes of cloth, you so protected from me. I'm not sure if that was truth, or I was inventing ways to not expose myself.

I am a joker, someone who is light as much as they can be, but even I have dark times where I am just unsure. You created one of those and I am still at a loss for words with you, because have these feelings that I am not completely new to, but when I experienced them last I was just a child, barely a teenager, and I don't remember them without the pale haze of youth and hormones getting in my way.

I cannot comprehend what you do to me but I know how I would love to touch you, hands resting on bare hips and skin like seashells, feel you in ways I cannot describe without feeling flustered. Which is how I can only describe you, you fluster me, get past this big confident shell and to the shy, emotional thing I hide within, and you prod and poke it with how you are, your face, your entire being.

We slept then, and when we awoke, those feelings hadn't dissipated, and I continued to long to touch seashell hips and have in return seaside kisses.

Sometimes I don't know how I feel about myself without thinking of how I feel about you.

Description
When I was presented with you, wrapped up and swaddled in layers as you were, I was not sure what to do with you.

I have never been as unconfident as I was in that moment, confusion overwhelming my senses as I thought, wow, I have no idea what to do.

Presented with you, I was stunned into an incomprehensible state. The possibilities I was presented with completely took over my entire being and I paused, froze up, because I hadn't been placed in a position I had no control over in a long time. Since then I had grown up a lot in a few short years and I had grown to be confident, but not with people, and not with people like you.

People like you that give me this feeling, a feeling of a nervous stomach full of razor winged moths. Razors because they cut into me, leaving lasting silver scars that remind me every day of what it feels like. Not butterflies because they do not have that same ethereal quality I see in moths, how they drug themselves on light. Butterflies are not drawn to the light like I am to you. You're a light in what I perceive to be a completely black room.

So I settle with your middle, fingers barely alighting and I'm not sure even now if you even felt it. I could have been closer and more intimate, but I felt naked beside you in those swathes of cloth, you so protected from me. I'm not sure if that was truth, or I was inventing ways to not expose myself.

I am a joker, someone who is light as much as they can be, but even I have dark times where I am just unsure. You created one of those and I am still at a loss for words with you, because have these feelings that I am not completely new to, but when I experienced them last I was just a child, barely a teenager, and I don't remember them without the pale haze of youth and hormones getting in my way.

I cannot comprehend what you do to me but I know how I would love to touch you, hands resting on bare hips and skin like seashells, feel you in ways I cannot describe without feeling flustered. Which is how I can only describe you, you fluster me, get past this big confident shell and to the shy, emotional thing I hide within, and you prod and poke it with how you are, your face, your entire being.

We slept then, and when we awoke, those feelings hadn't dissipated, and I continued to long to touch seashell hips and have in return seaside kisses.

Sometimes I don't know how I feel about myself without thinking of how I feel about you.