i thought of making another blog, starting a story from scratch, erasing the past i had myself forgotten; but i couldn’t. i couldn’t think of what to call it, couldn’t make my own words, having used yours for so long.
so, still, i write to you, though you are mine. i still write to you for who else could I write to, who else makes my heart slurp up the blood quite so greedily, who else can take the whole of me with one look? if he exists, and doubtless he does, i haven’t found him yet.
you swept me off my feet watching sunrises by my side in the train, gaze lingering to my thighs, lips ready to go for the jugular. you courted me through the snow, waiting for my other loves to die a natural death. you won me, fair and square, because it was i who awakened the predator in you and blood-lust blinkered you. i let you into the darkest part of me and you took me but if you stopped loving me, i would stop loving you. i must admit, there are nights when i wonder what that pain would feel like.
over time, i understood i never meant to be the best, only desired. i’m not ashamed of that – all that we are, all that we have stems from desire. the instinct to conquer is stronger than the instinct to love. you should know that because i don’t miss X and Y. you should know that because i still write. you should know that because once in a while i tell you that i don’t believe in love.
i’m that girl you met all those years ago that told you i was gonna fuck a lotta guys, just different.
dear world, i’m writing to you tonight. everyone else is either waiting for my call or doesn’t care at all and i’m tired of always turning up on time, of always taking no more than is mine, of feeling guilty for having the sheer components of this life.
i’m meant to be hopeful. imagine! i’m meant to dream, as if i haven’t dreamt all my life. i’m meant to be good, as if i’m not already on my best behaviour. i’m meant to burn without fire. is this what they call desire? surely not!
i’m told i have an addition to my caged harem. S. whipped into submission, you’d think. can you think, dear world?
another poor boy. never out of my sight, never in my bed. i should either lay him or let him go, no? no.
i will be crude tonight for i have an itch in my gut. the bile of the world is rising in my throat. and you can gloat. dear world, please gloat. because i will keep on living, so long dear god keeps forgiving all my wrongs and rights.
Posted in chapters of my life
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we, too, had gotten it all wrong more than once in our lives. we ran from desire instead of running towards it. disbelieved what mathematical induction could not prove, but what remains quite true: every pain, in every measure, can be counter-balanced by pleasure.
and i, the jagged tremor in your heart, the slight pause in your groan, am weak, for how many times i have surrendered to the illusion of lust?
but i shall find an excuse worth loving, a sentence worth of praise.
i am a woman.
no, a girl.
but more than that, i cannot feel complete unless i am a pool, half-full, passion rising to the surface, black oil floating on translucent water.
my heart is a pool collecting rivulets of desire in its basin, each drop – the sacred elixir of life. yes, i’ve changed. i used to say why be a man’s wife if you can be his mistress and now i’d rather say nothing at all.
now, i love you and you alone, but –
always a but-
i need the scarlet light to fall upon my form, if only to show off the violent carmine of my bullfighter’s cape.
my whole life is contained in the balance of virginal white and the shade of moonlight casting its fragile rays on lovers in the night. those colours merge to form my blood.
scarlet like the summer bloom of red roses, half-concealed by the shadows of rising sun.
and as i yearn for the chains of desire, wrap threads of red silk around me, dream me up sordid dreams.
i love you as you are, even if sometimes that’s not how it seems.
Posted in chapters of my life
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