It is exhilarating. Our lips crashing, every exhale getting lost within each other's mouth. The scratches that will surely litter my skin from the gravel behind me, and your uncut nails, feel almost too welcoming, too familial. This is not the first time we encounter each other in this position, with the intoxicating feelings flowing between us. Matter of factly, we have both decided that this is a hundred times too many. The heavens cannot fault us, they are the sole witnesses of our efforts to separate from one another. But, alas, fate has always fought the decisions we have made. She seems to like the differences that should make us run away from each other, to put miles between our bodies so we do not miss each other's warmth. But oh, if it isn't our stark contrast that makes us crave the other more - make us want to delve deeper, to know every crevice, every secret. My lips, often soft in nature, only changing when your teeth have drawn blood, and coated in the warm taste of strawberries. Yours, chapped and so deeply intertwined with the addictive taste of cigarettes - the nicotine soaking through the cracks on your lips I cause as well, leaving a permanent taste of sin. Such different tastes, that come together and make the most heavenly concoction. We have the same problems, our pasts trashed with many who have hurt us. We cannot trust, not in ourselves and less in the rest of the world. We have convinced ourselves we lack a heart, the pulsing in our chest when our lips meet simply there to complete a function that ensures whatever we have can continue. That we, somehow, left all emotions haphazardly splattered on the sidewalks where our hearts were broken for the last time. Love is something that terrifies us, a concept that has been so overly abused over the planes of our existence. I know that from the first time we ruffled the sheets of your bed, and woke up intertwined, we promised that there would be no feelings outside of lust. Only the desire was allowed to cloud our minds when with the other, but it is too late for me. How could I not love you, when you are the only one who has treated me with the gentleness I have always craved? No matter how much I wish to run from you, and forget the mere thought of knowing you, you are too interwoven with my soul. I cannot tell where I end, and where you begin. I cannot shake the hunger for you, for all that you are.
I tried to hold onto the chains that kept me grounded to the world, not wanting to fall further into the abyss that was your heart. Or whatever pieces of it were still present in your chest. I refused to hit the ground, and lose the addiction that was you. Yet, somehow, before I met the ground and lost the last bits of myself to your rejection, you managed to catch me. The arms that held me so tightly in the cusp of the night, the moon as the witness of our raw love, and that taught me the security of an embrace. If I had known how long you had been waiting for me with your beating heart bare on your palms, I would have allowed myself to meet you millenia ago, back when our souls were so carefully crafted to fit with the other.
- rewritten.
