Some boy is leaning over a guitar, wiping your wet eyes with a steady hand and worried ones. His voice is kind and soft, with a gentle lilt you can't quite wrap your finger around. There is a small white star sparkling on his left brow like a wink; and you're trembling, the breath streaming from your lips as thin and iridescent as the galaxy. Blushing down at your hands; This boy, who is so much like the countryside, puts a palm on your cheek and whispers a song. Familiar, but really, just kind words from a stranger; passing by your window in hurried blurs and outstretched arms as he's throwing hay and riding horses, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing: deep streaks of green and blurry yellows, pastel blue and the hazy sun off center in the sky like an egg yolk. When he reaches out another arm to touch you, your hesitance turns into a soft and unbearable yearning. It is tight and low in your belly, like your curled fist, fingers lightly touching. You're the cat lazying about his window, watching him work and stretching your paws; tasting the heat of the air on your rough tongue. The rougher tips of his palms. The short cut of his nails. Everything in you becoming alive with his touch, the vibrations beginning as subtle as a purr. The words falling from his mouth are as simple as the song slipping from his tongue. I want to make you feel wanted. It is more than you are used to and could ever have expected—

The fragile bones of his cheek bending as he is grinning and leaning closer towards you, placing his partially opened lips on your skin. Resting on a small space above the bridge of your nose. He exhales, his breath filling your body with stardust, highlighting the cracks in your mouth, and making you glow. The curve of his smile sliding down the side of your cheek like one cupped palm. Your eyelids fluttering with your breath. This boy, who is so much like the country side. The tan on his shoulders and buttery hair, trapping in the sunlight.

You are an early summer morning and the sweat rolling down the dip of his spine. You are the dull earth in his hands, catching beneath his fingernails. You are a butterfly, landing lightly on his shoulder, imperceptible as a kiss. You are the wide mouth of the river and the shade of the trees. You are every single blade of grass. In his eyes, you will find fields and the soft scent of lavender and better tomorrows. In his kiss, the comforting embrace of his long arms and a brighter future.

He will be your windstorm and every swim under the moonlight. He is driving with the top down and the wind blowing your hair off your shoulders. He is a lazy Sunday morning and over easy eggs with toast, the strawberry juice sticking to your fingers as the cat is softly meowing. He is your country boy.

He is a meteorite, and you are his landing.