[ WP ] I do n't need flesh to be human .

I loved the way he held me. 
 
 His brown eyes were gentle, his hands careful. He would slide them down my length and I would shiver, aching to move. I did not have to, though. He washed the grime of the past from me, held me close, and asked for no more. 
 
 So I loved him, in my silence. 
 
 
 
 I loved, too, the way he needed me. When his hands were not gentle, but instead seized me, yanked me close. His fingers shook -- I could feel his heartbeat hit like a hammer -- but when I settled into place, so did he. He called life into me, a spark that exploded into motion, that spiraled me into the world. *Alive. * 
 
 It was not only motion that made me live; any machine can move. When he lifted me, he put in me not only metal, but humanity. His touch sent a spark that struck again and again. With it, the fierceness of life burned. It seared me, dirtied me, and made me cry out, but I loved it. 
 
 I loved him. 
 
 I loved him in the fort, where he stood straight and tall with me by his side. I loved him in the desert, where I screamed with him and we sent out shot after shot. I loved him in the sky, where my cold brothers tried to bring us down. 
 
 But, 
 
 I also loved him when he put me down. When he ran his fingers down my length and cleaned what he could of our past. I held scars, cut into the metal and chipped into my plastic. He did as well, carved into his flesh, and deeper. We knew others waited for him, ones who would not understand; ones who would only see a beat up gun. 
 
 But when he set me down, we both understood. 
 
 Holding me, he knew humanity. 
 
 Held by him, I knew it too.
