(no subject)
I speak endlessly of how I can't belong, and I disregard the overwhelming desire I have to be his. I am paralyzed by his touch, his hands traveling cautiously over the hills and valleys of my body, his unbearably honest love, his effortless comprehension of the enigmas and riddles that stack together haphazardly to create my being. I tell myself I'm being open minded, that the sacrifices are insignificant, but all I'm really doing is desensitizing myself further. I question his love with a blank expression and I remain placid as the corners of his eyes begin to sparkle sadly with tears; occupational hazard, I say. I'm unimportant in the long run, I mean much less than you could imagine. I nuzzle my nose into the soft crevice of his neck and whisper my body is a cage, I want out, I don't want to feel this anger anymore. His approval makes no sense, his desire to carry my sweet burden, to caress my defects and accept them as his own. No one has ever wanted me so innocently or so selfishly. My hand began to tingle painfully as I held it gingerly over the pale skin encasing his heart, I want to believe he is lying, I want to indulge in the smugness of disappointment; but its empty. The ease with which we fit gracefully together is frightening and heartwrenching. We grab our chests in the dark silence and say, it hurts, then we fall dramatically into one another and allow the hopelessness of the situation to devour us. I will leave. You will miss me, but you'll move on. It's easy.