As Vivências

Quiet Delusions Through A Burning Past [4]

Shattered at the peak of a climax stolen from fractured dreams, they told me to be amazed—if, by some perverse miracle, I ever tasted what they called love. Perhaps, had they been right, I might have been spared certain afflictions. But now, all I can do is whisper to my friend—soulless experiments carve wounds too deep to close, searing through flesh and memory alike. And then, it falls upon you to explain why we linger atop this mountain, breathless, suspended, waiting for gravity to claim us.

There is a cruel seduction in speaking the truths that lacerate—not the ones we wish for, but the ones that split us open, raw and glistening. The kind that unravel soft delusions, unspooling a past that smolders, never quite burning out. By the pool, I met a different version of myself. She tilted her head, gaze too knowing, too sharp. Told me not to play—said I wasn’t fun enough. I smiled, slow and patient, my breath warm against her skin, and whispered not to be afraid of my love. If the dance slows to a crawl, we can drown in it. Let it consume us. That is the cost of stories that end in ruin. My true price is something wilder. Perhaps, for once, exceptions should be the ones to rule.

Fighting an unhinged past is a lover’s game—dark, reckless, exquisite in its cruelty. My former players would have agreed, had they not been broken long before the game had truly begun.

Some things should never be permitted. They used to touch me like a prayer to fire—soft, reverent, scorching. She held my waist just tightly enough to feign control, nails grazing the edge of violence. He drove his fist into my stomach so hard I felt my breath shatter inside me, pain blooming like heat through my bones. Their lips met—hungry, vicious, obscene in their desperation. A quiet kind of ecstasy. And me, an animal—waiting, wanting, starving for something that felt real.

Everything was wet. Not from the rain, but from ruin. From bodies too fevered to stop, from the kind of sweat that betrays intent. And yet, even now, I cannot hold it together.