more than enough

He asked, "Are you sad?"
And she was quiet, hesitant, unlike herself -
until she shakily shook her head "yes".

And he said nothing,
but ran his hands up her back
and turned her to face him,
pressing his nose against hers
looking softly, hardly breathing,
understanding, not knowing,
not even loving, just comprehension,
comprehension of what she needed:
The hands that brushed her spine
and the hair out of her face
the pressure of his body
and the fact that just then,
he was there.

And she felt more than his skin
and he, more than hers,
and he held her like he held the world.