I KNOW LOVE AND INTIMACY ARENT TWO IN THE SAME BY DICTIONARY DEFINITION BUT WHEN IM STARING INTO HIS EYES AND SEEING YOUR REFLECTION I CANT HELP BUT THINK THEY ARE. WHEN IM BITING ONTO HIS SHOULDER MUFFLING MY MOANS BUT I DONT HAVE THE HEART TO TELL HIM AFTERWARDS IT WASNT BECAUSE I COULDN'T CONTROL MYSELF BUT RATHER THAT I COULDN'T KEEP FROM MOANING YOUR NAME FOLLOWED BY A STRING OF SCRAMBLED WORDS ALL FORMED BY THE SAME LETTERS USED TO SPELL I LOVE YOU I CANT IMAGINE A PLACE WHERE INTIMACY AND LOVE ARENT DIRECTLY RELATED BECAUSE IT IS FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO BE INTIMATE WITH SOMEBODY REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH I DRINK AND HOW MANY TIMES I SCREAM INTO MIRRORS TELLING MYSELF TO GET OVER YOU WITHOUT IMAGINING YOUR FINGERTIPS TRAVELING THE LENGTH OF MY SPINE INSTEAD OF HIS AND YOUR WORDS SPILLING INTO MY MIND WHILE WE LAY ENTANGLED IN SHEETS THAT ARE SOILED WITH BROKEN MEMORIES AND SHATTERED DREAMS. IF INTIMACY AND LOVE ARENT SECRETLY GLUED TOGETHER WITH YOUR NAME THEN HOPELESSNESS AND DESPERATION MUST BE TIED TOGETHER WITH MINE BECAUSE I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO DESPERATE TO FEEL INTIMACY YET STILL HOPELESSLY CRAVING IT FROM YOU AND YOU ALONE EVEN AFTER IT HAS BEEN PRESENTED TO ME IN A DIAMOND PLATED BOX FILLED WITH LETTERS ATTEMPTING TO MATCH THE ONES YOU USED TO SPEND HOURS WRITING
c.a.l