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#sanctum
Was alone until you were there; You took my hand in yours, And we walked the times—both vice and fair. You left me with no words To tell you how much I care For you and love you no end. Remember the times we spent In each other’s ***** With nothing betwixt us but love In our sanctum sanctorum. In me you remain, and shall sustain— In a heart that loves you just and sane. Remember me and, no doubt, I’ll be there To bathe you in my love and care.
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Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 5:07 AM UTC
Then, Now, and in Times to Come
I do not ask you to echo my pulse, or mirror the shallow glitter of skin. Rival my yearn. I have worn it thin as a rosary, beads of breath counted in sleepless hours, thumb pressed to each longing until my fingerprints forgot themselves. Tell me, could you outlast this hunger? I have starved beside full tables, watched laughter pour like honeyed wine into other mouths, while mine held only the aftertaste of almost. I have been orchard and winter at once, branches bent with imagined fruit, roots clutching frostbitten soil, waiting for a sun that misremembers my name. I do not crave just the fever of bodies, the incendiary clasp, the fleeting conflagration where limbs tangle like careless ivy. Yes, I have dreamt of your skin like silk drawn over a blade, of closeness that dissolves the border between your breath and mine. But listen carefully. Lust is a spark that devours its own oxygen. Love is the sanctuary that remains after the fire has forgotten how to burn. I am on my knees in that vastness, palms open, echoing. I yearn for the quiet after laughter, for the sacred ordinariness of your shoulder against mine, for the gravity of a shared silence that does not need to be filled. I yearn for a gaze that lingers not because it is hungry, but because it has found a home. Do you understand? You may take my body in your hands, trace its cartography, name every scar like a discovered star. But you must love me more than you want me. More than the urgency of midnight, more than the ache that flickers and fades, more than the easy language of touch. Because I am not a moment. I am a lifetime of reaching. And still, I stand here, offering my trembling, inexhaustible ache like a candle in a storm, asking, softly, impossibly. Will you rival my yearn?
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Apr 14
Apr 14, 2026 at 1:15 AM UTC
Yearning
I do not ask you to echo my pulse, or mirror the shallow glitter of skin. Rival my yearn. I have worn it thin as a rosary, beads of breath counted in sleepless hours, thumb pressed to each longing until my fingerprints forgot themselves. Tell me, could you outlast this hunger? I have starved beside full tables, watched laughter pour like honeyed wine into other mouths, while mine held only the aftertaste of almost. I have been orchard and winter at once, branches bent with imagined fruit, roots clutching frostbitten soil, waiting for a sun that misremembers my name. I do not crave just the fever of bodies, the incendiary clasp, the fleeting conflagration where limbs tangle like careless ivy. Yes, I have dreamt of your skin like silk drawn over a blade, of closeness that dissolves the border between your breath and mine. But listen carefully. Lust is a spark that devours its own oxygen. Love is the sanctuary that remains after the fire has forgotten how to burn. I am on my knees in that vastness, palms open, echoing. I yearn for the quiet after laughter, for the sacred ordinariness of your shoulder against mine, for the gravity of a shared silence that does not need to be filled. I yearn for a gaze that lingers not because it is hungry, but because it has found a home. Do you understand? You may take my body in your hands, trace its cartography, name every scar like a discovered star. But you must love me more than you want me. More than the urgency of midnight, more than the ache that flickers and fades, more than the easy language of touch. Because I am not a moment. I am a lifetime of reaching. And still, I stand here, offering my trembling, inexhaustible ache like a candle in a storm, asking, softly, impossibly. Will you rival my yearn?
Continue reading...
55
Your soul calls out to me, did Lethe make us forget? Who we were to each other? Who are you? It matters not, I reached you too late and our souls entwine, fingertips brush.. but I can never cross the ocean between us. Despite all my words, all my 'wisdom' - my temper gets me into trouble. I told you I wasn't good. I told you that people would fail you, we both knew. Yet you opened up because we asked and it was a crack, a slither of who you are. But it was enough, it was enough. I'm sorry I failed you. You should never trust anyone - but I wanted to be one of your exceptions.
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Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
You.
And I'm sorry for loving you Because I know it wasn't real love And I know it was wrong. But you make me spin. I know you know quadrants I could never be what you need You gave me a taste and ripped it away and I'm done. You weren't cruel, stated intentions. It was me who said "maybe " and "because" and it just, won't fly with you. It wasn't real It wasn't real. All I need is your approval. I fall at your feet and all you are is a boy, and that's scary for a boy. I'd like to be your friend but it's only when I'm drunk I can be brave enough to give you recommendations and music. You probably never think of me You're only here for her I get it I know I'm not enough I know I'm not good. I'm grateful you even breathe in my direction. I should be more grateful you expend oxygen to occasionally speak to me. I'm not worth the time. I'm not worth Anything.
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Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 3:38 PM UTC
A Prizm's Eyes