He has these great round biceps and thick forearms that tell me he's a tin soldier at heart.
And when I put a hand on his shoulder, he melts a little, just in one place. With his feet at a right angle with the ground, toes pointing just noticeably inward.
He smiles white and stares black. There's a confidence he doesn't see in himself. A strength in what he wants.
And here I am in tulle, balancing on toes I've forgotten to feel.
But I'll lend a corner blush and happy lashes to make sure he knows I wish I could hold his hand.