The Lies We Live

love

"it's not much of a life you're living."

I'm sitting here, wondering when you'll come into my life. Maybe you don't even exist. In my dreams, you are a young man, but something about your eyes tells me that your soul is ancient. My mother used to tell me not to trust boys, she thought they only wanted one thing. But I see you, and somehow I know you want much more. You want the same things as I do.

It's funny, because every time I dream of you, your features are blurred, rough around the edges, and I find that terrible because how on earth then, am I supposed to pick you out of a crowd? But maybe, just maybe, I'll know. I'll see the solar system in your eyes, and roses in the blush of your cheeks. You will be the only person that makes me blush like that too.

I want to talk to you, but I'm not exactly sure what you would say. I want to tell about how terrified I am of the future, and how I believe in aliens. Talk about the universe with you, because you are the only person that makes it significant. You can tell me about sunsets, or stay absolutely quiet, I suppose only one person can be the talker in every relationship.

But if you do choose to speak, I will be there to listen. I want to hear your harsh voice say soft words, I want a juxtaposition that doesn't make proximity feel like discomfort. I want you to hug me like my mom does.

Her arms are the only place that feels like home. But you will be too. A bigger house with sturdier arms and I haven't decided yet whether you will be aggressive or attentive. I want you to stand up for me when they try to hurt me, and I know I can defend myself, but that is beside the purpose. I want to live in a world where not everyone is repulsed by me. But I also want someone that is vulnerable. I want your tears to become my tears, and your anguish to become mine. In a way, I want to give you what I have never gotten. A person that can help me shoulder the burden of being alive.

I don't think I'd mind either way though. To be honest, if you ever told people I was your's, I'd be delighted. Because the idea of being someones has very little to do with property, I believe. When you say 'you are mine,' I know what you mean to say is, 'it terrifies me to think that you could leave me, and give someone else the solace you once gave me.'

Your sadness is the charcoal colour the sky fits on rainy days; nothing feels right. I don't want to love you because I have spent so long trying to forget what it feels like to attach your vestigial organs to someone else's mood swings. Terrifying, I know. So I thank God that you have not made an appearance in my life yet, and I pray that you never will. Anything is better than falling in love, only to feel your lungs crumble when they leave.

And you wonder, 'why might I leave?' Well, don't you know that there is a garden out there? A whole forest of beauties that awaits, if only you chose to look around. And you will because I have hurt almost every person I have ever met. I am over bearing and judgemental, and I can't understand new things very well. You included.

I am depressing to a point of annoying, just ask anyone we know, and they will tell you that I am not the one for you. I find it hard to hold conversations that are about anything other than myself, and you, my darling deserve someone who will pick up your every sigh and every smile, because I will not be able to capture these things the way they should be kept.

Despite knowing, I will still act ignorant when I meet you. I will want you to be the only person I make love to.

***NSFW***

I know we don't have any clothes on, but for me, this isn't enough. I want to be closer if that can even happen. Because I have seen you lose control with the gentle strokes of my hands. You come undone in a way that everyone always wishes. A complete forgetting of reality. I am hyper aware of the warmness of my body, the goosebumps that rise like oncoming waves, as you touch me in all the places that I have not even dared to touch myself.

I finally understand why this moment should have meant so much to me. I lose my bearing in this room, the world, even myself, as this high courses through every vessel within me.

We are a mess of harsh breathing and indescribable moans. At first, the pain begs you to stop, but by now, I have realised that the best pleasures require the worst punishments. But it passes, like everything else in life. You settle into rhythm, one that my ears may not catch, but my thighs do. I follow the tempo, as we are not a duet, but an orchestra, alive with not only our whimpers, but our heartbeats, the sound of skin on skin, and perhaps, even the slight creaking of the mattress as it bears our burden instead of us.

When the release comes, I am lost to space and time. You do not exist anymore, only this feeling, and this bed, because how can you possibly exist like this after everything I've been through? You shift, moving to lay beside me, and the crescendo dissipates into silence.

This is one of the best things you will ever get in life.

***Ok done***

I hope you will be a painter because I have something to admit. I have shunned cliches my entire life, but that was only because I never thought it belonged in fiction. I could never hold a brush and let my mind match the canvas. But I want you to hold the grace my shaking hands could have never grasped.

I want you to be the one who really does last.