(A/N: Because 22 is an amazing number….! )
Twenty-two.
There are twenty-two scars on his body.
He tries to hide those twenty-two scars from me.
But I've never seen anything more beautiful.
Twenty-two.
He's struggled to shield them from me twenty-two times.
But he knew that could not last forever.
Eventually, his scars would be revealed.
Twenty-two.
There are twenty-two unnatural marks across his chest.
All are uneven, jagged tears in his skin.
Each one of them painfully visible.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two times I've told him I don't care.
Because I know what those scars really are.
They are what makes up Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two scars that I slowly trace over with my fingertips.
I watch his eyes slowly close, afraid this is all a dream.
He is afraid that this dream will end.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two sensual moans that escape from his lips.
My tongue runs brazenly across each scar.
His eyes are still closed, but his heart pounds desperately.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two times my lips meet his flesh.
I lovingly kiss each scar, lingering upon his skin.
I relish every moment, every scar.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two times must be some type of magic number.
It's the number of times I've said 'I love you.'
It's the number of times he's said, 'I love you.'
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two is the number of weeks.
The number of weeks it took me to gather enough courage.
The number of weeks it took me to make a decision.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two times that he said, 'yes.'
Only a 'yes,' repeated again and again and again.
The answer to my most important question.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-two years we've been together.
Twenty-two years since he said, 'yes.'
Twenty-two is our magic number.
