Laying beside you is my greatest fear
and my greatest dream,
for both you and I can hear
the rise and fall of my chest,
fighting to keep my breath
in tandem with yours, I could almost scream.

You hold me so close, the air between us
heats up, like a lovely inferno.
I’m pained, being kept from turning
over and over in your burning
grasp, but to be without it would pain me more so.

The melancholic, nostalgic feeling you get while watching her dance, it’s like you’ve stopped breathing and she’s carbon-monoxide, but you remember what your last breath was like -without her, and you’d rather suffocate.

It's like standing at the edge of a cliff watching everything you've ever loved and hoped for fall to the rocks below.

It's like being the smallest soul, the loneliest one in the world with enough hurt in your heart to rip you apart because your skin can't hold the nuclear bomb being detonated inside you.

It's standing beside your soulmate, watching them carry on without you as you slowly implode.

Black coffee, beer
—two things that are
absolutely disgusting
and I won’t pretend
they taste good.

What’s more?
I won’t pretend you
taste good, either.

You pulled my hair, left bite marks and handprints on my skin and left me sore all over, but it was a good kind of pain.

It was the kind of pain you yearn for the second it begins to heal.

Honestly, I didn't mind the markings either, they showed that I was yours and yours alone.

So unlike the markings on my heart, the scars of all the other men who had hurt me, not out of love, not out of pleasure, but out of hatred and malice.

So, know, when I tell you that pulling my hair doesn’t hurt and that I like it when you leave your markings on my skin it is true, because the pain you inflict on me comes from a place of love and that could never hurt me.

I close my eyes and hear wind and rain slapping the sides of my house.
The windows are open and I am chilled to the bone, but it isn’t because of the storm.

As humans, there are just certain things that we could never ever know.

How are we to know that there is or isn’t a god?
It is merely belief in one of the other that keeps a god alive or dead in one’s heart.

But one thing I know with absolute certainty,  without a shadow of a doubt, is that you are the most beautiful collection of stardust and bones I’ve ever seen in all of my existence.

And I am certain there is nothing that can ease the fluttering in my heart that comes at the thought of you.

You said
“be quiet.” “hold your breath.” “not a word.”

Only not in so many words.

Lifted a finger to those familiar lips and signaled that if I made a sound, you’d stop.

You must have known what blissful torture it was, caught between pleasure and the inability to tell you of it.