He had a gentle way about him despite the darkness that seemed to cloud his eyes.
Like someone who saw unspeakable torture but didn't let it ruin him.
Like he soaked it in and let it make him more cautious.
Watching him was mesmerizing.
Like leaves swirling on a soft breeze.
Like watching an artist create a masterpiece, stroke by stroke.
Everything had an ease.
The way he walked. The way he spoke.
The way he seemed to calm the storm of energy I was perpetually battling.
Even the way he pushed people out was easy. As was the way he withdrew.
I don't think he knew his effect on me.
How it was so easy to spill my past and my heart and my thoughts to him.
How his memory made the corners of my lips turn up.
How his smile made a single butterfly flit to life in my stomach, fluttering in time to the rhythm of my quickened heart rate.
How safe he made me feel.
Somehow, this man I'd known only a while made me feel at home.
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