“No,” she says with heated sincerity. “Of course not. What is love if it can be turned off by scars? You could look like an ogre and I would still feel this magnetic pull we have.” She gestures between our two bodies. “I would still be in love with you no matter what you looked like.” She picks up my hand and grips it to her waist. Dropping her voice to a whisper she tells me, “Your touch would still make me quiver.” I think she has that the wrong way around. It’s her touch that makes my every nerve ending vibrate with energy. She leans in and looks into my eyes. “Your eyes would still make me feel like I’m willingly trapped in their dark abyss.” Again, she has that the wrong way around; it’s her eyes that I can swim forever in. She leans in closer so that I can feel the warmth of her breath on my lips. “And your kisses would still scorch my very soul.”
“Ditto,” I barely manage to whisper.