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Monday, June 2nd, 2008
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7:47a
He hasn't touched me in a long while, not since that first kiss or that last beating.
I mean physically, of course.
And then there is the way he reaches inside me with unseen fingers, gathering up the stray ends of my Music, gently caressing and coiling every strand securely into his grasp before he tightens it and twists relentlessly. It is agony. It is ecstasy. Somehow it feels obscene that it should be both.
And then there is the way he comes up silently behind me, tilting his head so close that the heat of his breath scorches the skin of my neck and flows like lava into my ear. I close my eyes and I'm not the type to swoon, but there's always a first time.
And then he starts to whisper, with words that say nothing and mean everything. Soothing and seductive, instructive and edifying. Manipulative. Predatory. Arousing. All of that.
My hand couldn't begin to satisfy the ache, so I don't even try.
That's the point, I think.
current mood:  reflective
current music: Melkor
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10:25a
Do they wonder where I go?
It's hard to believe that they can't tell. Or choose not to. Perhaps all that lofty idealism clouds one's vision? What an ironic handicap.
He's begun to tell me his plans and I feel privileged. I tell him things in return and he acts interested; as if these tiny observances are Important. Of course they're not and I find myself listening for significant things to pass on to him without being asked. For reasons I cannot completely fathom, this disgusts me. It's definitely not out of loyalty to them, fuck no. Possibly shoe leather is an acquired taste.
I have obsessive dreams of him taking me. They generally end with me sliding a knife between his ribs at the exact moment that he splits me in half.
current mood:  discontent
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