the girl's body feels like that of a goddess when he touches her thighs. he says that when he kisses her she tastes like love and something he can't quite put his finger on. it isn't until she pulls him closer that he can. he realizes it's longing that he tastes.

who knew aphrodite longed for anything? for anyone?

the girl is soft her cheeks coloured like redwood, her hair dark and wild, her eyes brown. she's warmer than usual, but her hands are still cold. when he asks to kiss her, she doesn't want to close her eyes, she's afraid that she's too high up. mount olympus doesn't care for mortals, but she doesn't want to forget this one.

yes. aphrodite longs all of the time and as his laughter waterfalls down her spine, she doesn't remember anything but his brightness, that he is what makes her beauty.

goddess of love met her match. a mortal boy that feels like the god of autumn causes the leaves inside of her chest to fall and change colour.

she paints her love in shades of red. her hands on his body are pink-rose at the palms. this goddess of beauty has never seen any of her potential. perhaps it was wasted until he looked at her with disbelief, because she's never felt worth that gaze, but gods does she want it.

he looks at her and he just wants to occupy the same space forever.

*she looks at him and holds all the love in the universe in her hands.

day 1 (uno) that we talked you tried to whisper the clothes off my body and told me you wanted to see the folds of your fingers inside of me (as if it was nothing) and while I rejected he formulated and cracked a new plan — to tell me thats all he wanted to hear, and demanded self respect while pushing for lack of self respect.
His eyes couldn’t lie but when I tried to locate them, he carried me away in his personal blue seas (this is a cliche) and made me taste the waters (I got addicted as a result) and I guess that even my logic obsessed self couldn’t make out what was right and wrong anymore, so I drowned myself and floated in his rivers

Proceed to day 34 (teintra y cuatro) where you admitted under a drunken spell that you loved me all along and wanted a future. Phase 1: Terrified. Phase 2: Relief. Relieved that my love was not only mine, but ours. Relieved that I could drink from those waters forever. But terrified, so, so terrified of the mess I made from the man who only wanted to have my naked body and infect it. I had only shown a glimpse of my skin around my lower back, and you could only demand more while judging my self respect (or lack thereof). My logical self had decided that this behavior was him at his finest he was just setting me up and wanted to invade my skin. My loving self was convinced that he was acting out on his newly found addiction. Since I had just fed him the same venom he poisoned my body with.

In the end, it was all just a test of my self respect.
Or lack thereof.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

Thank you for seeing museums in me where i saw empty hallways.

i,
I
am real
my gender is real
my sexuality is real
despite everything and everyone telling me that they're not —
I am real as ****.

Maybe that's why you're confused by me.

Maybe it's because you're used to a resolution that's less than 8-bit.
Maybe it's because you're used to a pixelated existence.
Maybe it's because all that you can compute
are 0s and 1s.
***** and *****
lips and *****

Maybe that's why you're afraid of me.

Because you're afraid of what you're going to see in high resolution.
Because you're afraid to see exactly what you've been missing out on.
Becuase I'm not coded in binary, hexadecimal, Base32 or 64,
but Base∞

and I code myself in a language
that I am constantly learning
and creating simultaneously,
let's have an interesting conversation

...supurfluous, unnecessary, confusing...
words spoken by the able, the unwilling
to take a closer look at my pupils —
dilating in high definition.

In fact, the definition is so high
that you'll have climb from my genitals
all the way up into my heart to see me for who I am.

Yes, I realize that binary is necessary for the basis of computation.

But we're past that now.
We don't only have ifs and thens.
We've got ands, ors, buts, maybes, sometimes, always, and nevers.

We've got infinities.
We've got forevers.

lying on my mattress
or floor
staring into the
pure
white ceiling.
Thinking, breathing, wanting to scream.
Everything's perfect.
except for the white ceiling, of course