He can’t keep his hands off her.

He basks in the warm glow of her affections.

Always by his side.

He lights up whenever she speaks.

He holds her tenderly to his face, so close that she too can see the flecks of black and orange in his irises.

I am ignored. Her conversation is more engaging. Even as we talk his gaze lingers on her.

She holds his attention even in silence. Rapture in the dark.

She is private, though. Guarded.

The Apple of his eye.

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  1. Pingback: Life without ‘likes’ | smashedcompass

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