I hope you feel tall when you hold me, and strong and stable and secure. I hope you, too, notice the way your fingers fit between my ribs and mine naturally land in the valley of your upper back between your shoulderblades, where I suspect you hide your wings somehow, not because you’re an angel (what holy entity licks their lips like that?) but because you are magical, and sensitive, and the way you look at me is like you were put in my life just so I can adore you with everything I have. I hope you feel what I’m thinking, so one day instead of asking you can trade the question in for a quotient: what happens when you and I are divided? The answer is I miss you and I sleep in your scent and I dream in all the different ways you smile. I hope you feel not just like a man, but like mine, and when you hold me, you know that I’ll hold you close and hold you together but never hold you back, because you will do amazing things and grow even taller.

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