✒️🕰️🕯️📝🤎

he comes in earth-toned threads:

black, deep brown, olive green,

cotton that holds the scent of the sun,

linen that folds like whispered prayers.

tweed at the collar,

corduroy warming his spine,

a quiet language stitched into every seam.

his hair curls at the edges,

brown kissed by dusk,

soft enough to tangle fingers in

during silence.

and his eyes,

a color you can’t quite name,

like rain on parchment,

like something old and holy.

he walks like poetry,

not loud, not hurried -

but deliberate,

as if the world is a page

and he knows how to read between the lines.

his smile a revelation. a cathedral of warmth

and perfect teeth he shows only when it matters.

he dresses like a forgotten novel,

the kind you hold with two hands

and read slow,

careful not to miss

the meaning between the words.

he rarely checks his phone.

he writes letters instead.

ink smudges on his knuckles.

thoughts tucked in margins.

he smells like paper and home.

and when he looks at me -

truly looks,

it’s not with hunger or want,

but with knowing.

like I am something

he’s been dreaming of

since before he had the words.

— Lux