A love story.

We're laid entwined but you say, I feel too heavy, you are digging into me with ribs and hipbones and I can feel your breathing lungs.

So I say, it's fine, I am strong and I like where you are.

And you say I am too big, too heavy for you, I'll crush you. I can't sleep thinking I'll crush you.

I say you do no harm. There's a pause. I say you are the perfect size, and you aren't hurting me.

You get up and cross the room. I think you're going to the bathroom, but you stop in front of the mirror and make a face. You think I am asleep. I say, come back to bed, sleep grates on my voice and you say, in a minute. I heave my sleep sodden legs out of the quilt and brave the arctic cold of the room to sit by you in front of our dressing table. Your belts and my bangles strewn across it. You are looking down at your hands. I put a hand underneath your chin and tilt it towards me to kiss you, but you pull away.

"I don't feel pretty".

"Noone thinks they're pretty in this day and age darling, but you are perfect to me".

You laugh. I put an arm around you and you lean your head on my shoulder. There's a bang as you contact my clavicle, but we're nested in each other. "Perfect, perfect. You make me feel safe and cared for. I want to make you feel good, good, as good as I feel."

You smile and say I would if I was different. I stroke your stomach and dapple my fingers along the outlines of your face. You flinch at these touches, because you don't like specifics about yourself. You bury your head into my chest. You're warm and you smell of soap and shampoo. I inhale the comforting scent of your hair, and kiss the top of your head. "Come back to bed". I take your hand and pull you over. This time I don't argue when you lie down first and pull me into an embrace. I fall into soft arms and you say, it's just that I'm not happy with myself. I say I understand. I let you touch my neck and my thighs, just to show you, that you and only you can touch me there and I'll be alright with it. Not other people. You say it's difficult to believe anyone thinks this about you, when everyone else has told you different. I say they are lying. And do they matter now anyway, here, in this safe place? You come home to me, I say. You make a murmuring in the back of your throat, and I respond by sighing to express contentment. I trick my fingers through yours and say I am so happy, here and now. You're luminescent. I put a finger tip to your cheek and feel it wet, and make a clucking. I draw myself closer into you. I want to be underneath your skin to weed out all of the bad that you think about yourself. I let you cry until we both fall asleep, but I whisper, perfect perfect perfect, you are perfect, a charm to try and soothe you.