Suffocating;
I struggled for breath as my mind looked for a way out. Trapped.
Pausing;
you waited a few seconds before placing your hands on my throat. I was grateful for the virtue of air.
Resisting;
the pressure of your hands on my hips is something that I'll never forget. And not at all because it was enjoyable.
Scarring;
I can't even look down at my hands without being flooded with memories of being pressed against that wall. I feel weak and pathetic.
Wishing;
shooting stars are for dreams. Not for hoping that for once I will be able to forget.
YOU ARE READING
If only we could fly.
RandomSometimes I can't sleep and my thoughts cloud my vision of reality; these are the things that I write in times of confusion- when everything is blurred except my love for you. ((this wasn't how this story was supposed to go, I'm sorry))
