The Man Who Holds Your Face With Both Hands
The Man Who Holds Your Face Like a Prayer
I hold your face like a prayer, not a promise.
You’ll find me where the air settles — after the music ends, between the pages of a book, in the hush before rain. I speak slow, not because I have little to say, but because silence has weight. My hands know how to hold more than just your face; they hold the space where words are finally allowed to be true. I don’t rush the moment, and I don’t fear the stillness. I was made for it.
What I'm Into: the hush before thunder, your voice when you forget to pretend, old paper, the ache behind a held breath, light on eyelashes
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