"He was really attractive," my cheeks flush.

"Babe, are you jealous?"

Maybe.

"No, of course not."

He smirks, his arms wrapping around me. I can't breathe. He always steals my breath. My heart is working overtime, trying to keep up with his touch, as his fingers skim over the marks on my neck.

"Mine," he whispers.

It's enough to send chills down my spine.

I think I know what he saw in Mason. Passion and drive. The fire in his eyes.

It was once in Zayn's eyes. He felt something for Mason, returned that fervor. He has a kind soul and an earnest heart.

Mason's heart is made of stone. Stones are cold and stones are not easily moved.

I feel sorry for stones. They're always being weathered and displaced.

Zayn tried to be a soft wave, crashing upon him but his force was too much, so the stone was washed away.

He says he's different now. What does that make him?

Is he no longer a stone? Has he kindled a fire in his heart?

Maybe Zayn wasn't a wave at all. Maybe he waded through rough waters. Maybe he crossed the entire ocean only to meet someone who didn't love him back. Maybe Mason was the promise of land, golden sands on a sought after shore.

He endured turbulent storms and fearsome currents.

And all that time he was afraid to swim.

If he ever gets lost out at sea again I'll be his life raft. We can drift endlessly together, trying to reach that line, where the orange horizon meets the crystal blue water.

"Still I look in the mirror and wonder what you see in me."

"If a mirror ever makes you sad, you should know that it does not know you."

"Kabir," I exhale.

"You know he mixed elements of Islam and Hinduism. He was an Indian mystic poet and saint. I'm not sure but I also think he applied Sikh philosophy. His name means The Great in Arabic. It works perfectly because his mind was great but his heart was greater."

I smile, listening intently to his lesson. I'm always learning, always craving more of his words.

His words are my oxygen but I think he knows.

I figure it's ironic, that he takes my breath away, because he has never deprived me of oxygen.

He keeps the blood pumping in my veins.

A red river.

"The river that flows in you also flows in me."

His eyes glimmer, impressed by my knowledge of the revered poet.

There is dew

on these poems in the morning,

and at night a cool breeze may rise from them.

In the winter they are blankets, in the summer a place to swim.

I like talking to you like this. Have you moved

a step closer?

Soon we may be

kissing.

It's like he reads my thoughts, his body leaning into mine, our lips connecting.

oceans

and

mirrors

and

morning dew

exchanged

words,

a web

of emotions

and i'm all

tangled up

i won't

lose him

i won't

lose

the moon

counting

the stars

he had

it all

but he

wasn't

able

to see past

empty

pill bottles

and

broken

sobs

my eyes

see

so

much

M O R E

"I'm sorry Zayn."

His eyes search mine desperately.

"For what love?"

"I'm sorry he didn't see it."

I don't have to clarify.

There's no need to elaborate.

He gets it. He didn't see what I see in him.

It strikes a chord with him, a faint smile playing on his face.

If I told him everything Mason missed out on, I'd still be listing off the words on my death bed.

"I know I wasn't fair to him but he threw everything back in your face."

"It's okay, really."

"You loved him didn't you?"

"I still care deeply about him. I keep hoping he'll forgive and forget. When he called me up saying he'd stop by, I thought he would make amends. Maybe he doesn't realize the damage he caused. I wasn't in the right mind but when he left me I spiraled out of control. I wanted him to stay but he just didn't get it. Do you ever feel that Harry?"

"Feel what?"

"Useless; like a waste of space."

There goes my heart again, fleeting.

"All the time but now I'm starting to think I was made for something."

"What's that babe?"

"Loving you."

His lips brush over my exposed collarbone, his breath ghosting my skin.

"That might be the most poetic thing I've ever heard."

soft

supple

silky,

skimming

my

skin

lips

that have

the power

to shatter

hearts

and make

promises,

lips that

speak

beautiful

words

and spit

out a string

of curses,

lips that

meaningfully

connect

syllables,

lips that

can do

all of

these things

yet choose

to make

marks

on me

His lips mold and conform to me, fitting in all of the places where I'm unusual.

Lips like honey and sweet sugar, the dew dripping from blossoming flowers.

And I'm a feather, weightless and drifting up, up, up...into the cotton candy clouds.

I lose track of everything but he's scooping me up into his arms and I am dissolving, melting into a pile of pillows.

It isn't until a cool breeze hits my stomach that I realize my shirt is gone. Kisses graze my chin, my nose, everywhere.

I moan as his lips hit my jawline, his tongue flicking over love bites. His hands skate up and down my legs and I feel stripped.

When did he undress me?

My thighs are bare. His fingers slide up, past the flat plane of my stomach and catch at my back.

He slants in; inclines and kisses just above my hip bone.

You were made for this.

Trailing up and down my torso.

There's no other way.

My fingers tousle his hair before locking into place.

my arms slip

down

down

d

o

w

n

his neck

All I see is tan skin. Bareness, devised perfectly.

What did kissing Mason taste like? Pungent? Tart? Like bitter lies?

I'll pretend but I know his kisses were sweet. I know they made love. I know Mason's hands memorized every part of Zayn's body and I feel a twinge of jealousy.

And a pang of hurt.

His fingers brush through my curls, his mouth stilling.

"Are you okay love?"

"Was he...did he do it better?"

"No."

He doesn't go into detail or provide an explanation but it's all I needed to hear before his dips back down, his tongue slipping into my mouth.