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i didn’t fall for your body — i fell for the way your silence trembled when you trusted me to hear it. i loved you past your skin, past the curve of your lips and the softness of your breath. i loved the cracks in your voice when the world grew too heavy, the storms in your eyes when you were too tired to smile, and the ache in your soul that you tried so hard to hide. Don’t you see? i was not memorizing your body— i was memorizing the map of your hurt. because love, i did not come to touch you like a tourist touches a city— i came to live inside you, the way a poem lives in the chest long after the page is burned. You were not a body to me. you were a home i wanted to return to, over and over, even when the doors were locked. — and baby, i still have the keys.