Like Most Of Us, I'm Used To

I Know This Is Our Honeymoon. But Just Sometimes, I Wish Luke Was A Girl.

If I Behave As Though This Is A Completely Normal Situation, Then Maybe It Will Be.

Ciao," I Say Casually, And Flick My Hair Back. "si. Ciao." I Could So Be Italian. Except I Might Have To Learn A Few More Words.

Lover? I Don't Know. I Don't Know If She Loves Me. I Don't Know If I Love Her. All I Can Say Is, She's The One I Think About. All The Time. She's The Voice I Want To Hear. She's The Face I Hope To See.

Except...i Do. Of Course I Do. Because As His Hands Gently Cup My Waist, I Don't Make A Sound. As He Swivels Me Around To Face Him, I Don't Make A Sound. I Don't Need To. We're Still Talking. Every Touch He Makes, Every Imprint Of His Skin Is Like Another Word, Another Thought, A Continuation Of Our Conversation. And We're Not Done Yet. Not Yet.