“I think it was mostly truth I was after. I know now that truth is a troubling thing. You can’t snort your way to it. You can’t drink your way to it. You can’t fuck your way to it. You can’t cheat your way to it. You can’t love your way to it. You can only let it envelope you and try to make sense of it all.”—Chapter 1 - Isn’t It Pretty To Think So? (via nickmiller)
an extremely small appendage usually attached to the groin area of a male. often smells like a mixture of papaya and mango. can be used for mild stimulation, if any. when stimulated itself it secretes a liquid which is comparable to snuggle fabric softener. owner will usually cry after secretion and try to cuddle.
I begin to recite stories to myself. The only one I can think of, now belongs to us. We spent an hour reading aloud my beloved childhood fiction. This was earlier - a time when we were in conscious space. Our voices teased each others ears with sadistic pleasure. We reach chapter 12, only to open our mouths to each other instead of the book.
Easily, the past few days could have been lucid dreams. I feel them weigh my feet down - only to lift me up by my hands. Filling me up like a balloon - inflated by hot air like his hot breath on my skin.
We sit and grip each other tightly on most occasions. Side by side our legs graze over pastures of smooth skin. He enjoys the inners of my thighs, the hills that are passionate against his palm. A soft touch, a wet kiss, and I am twisted around his body.
He’s still inside me.
Sitting in this room breathing in darkness. My mind is focused and still. Where his may be I wish I knew, but there, he’s lain out before me. He who I loved, outstretched under immaterial blankets. What matters is my own shelter, given to him under the cursed gift of love. But I am afraid. All of this could end, and he’s unaware of the tick-tick-ticking of my fingertips pressing keys. Clicking noises that haunt me. Get out of my head. Get me out of my head. Let me sleep now. I promised I wouldn’t leave him.