I'm already asleep when he gets off. He climbs into my bed. The smell of burnt tobacco and whiskey from a long night. Half awake, I drink it in. The alluring mask of who he wants to be, is. A romantic vision of a rowdy man, but with too much heart to ever really pull it off. It's an illusion that I've fallen in love with, and in that I don't mean that my love is fake in any way. That love is real. I love that he's a beautiful illusion, the way he reeks of trouble, but never actually brings it. Like his bearded kisses, he's both bristly and tender. The perfect mix of a man.
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