heart swells

you count them, the spots on his skin—not freckles. they dot behind his ear, among his chin, at his temple. unraised moles, you call them. your hands sweep his hair, soft blonde tufts between your fingers. your heart is thrumming. you wish you could touch every inch of his skin with your hands, but you don’t have much time.

“thirty years from now, tonight may seem unbelievably beautiful.”

and in the meantime?

you wish there was more time— that there was no thirty years from now. you wish it was just this moment and this moment only, living in this moment for as long as time exists. for as long as you can count the stars on his skin. he’s perfect, you tell yourself. your sense of beauty warps as he tells you that it’s unfair, well, of course it is. it’s unfair because the vineyard gets dimmer and dimmer the longer you stare at him. when you stare at him, he glows. he glows, and the leaves suddenly look dry to you, the vines don’t look as mesmerizing, and the ringing of the church bells turn damp. he's perfect. you could count the stars on his cheeks.

“why not?”

his coat falls with as much grace as two bodies crashing into each other, and you wish he would kiss you until you were numb. he tried, though, but you could still feel your soul receding. you feel your lack of refinement pair with embarrassment— but he’s kissing you, and he’s kissing you as hard as the pounding against your chest, and you could kiss it all away but you don’t have much time.

on my way here this afternoon, i thought perhaps we would only... talk.

“so... are you sorry we—”

no! i—i love you hanschen, as i have never loved anyone.

thirty years from now. it was the thirty years that lasted two seconds, because you wish it was the thirty years that passed before he opens his mouth to speak.

“...and so you should.”

you guess some things are best left unsaid.