cold coffee

I pushed the door open with my foot, startling you. Your eyes were filled with sleep; mine were full of mischief. I came to your room with the intention to wake you up with the smell of coffee, but seeing you like this; naked, hard, embarrassed; it did things to me.

You were a guest in my house. A friend. The polite thing would have been to apologise and leave. But I couldn’t. I was hungry. Starving. And not for food. You looked at your erection, then at me. I licked my lips and tried to find a safe place for that cup of coffee in my hand.

You sat up and reached for the sheets to cover yourself. I shook my head. “Don’t, ” I croaked. You rose an eyebrow, probably intensely aware of the situation too. I kept my eyes on you, avoiding to see myself ungracefully join you on the mattress through the mirror on the wall.

“Hi, ” you said as if you were seeing me for the first time. Your hand was already in my hair, pulling my head; my lips, to yours.

Outside, rain was joining the wind that had been up all night. Inside, we were joining too.

Everything fit. Profoundly. Almost overwhelmingly. The natural flow of things didn’t take us aback. It didn’t leave room for doubts or vanities. Every touch meant something. Every time I felt your tongue on my heated skin, it felt as if I was becoming a part of you. Your hands explored my body as if they had never done anything else. The weight of you on my tongue was exactly right, and your taste made me swallow you as often as I could. I was drowning in our lust.

When you finally penetrated me, it only took a moment before the world exploded for me. Shivering, sweating, swearing, I encouraged you to keep moving. But you didn’t. You lay on top of me; your hands were caressing my hair, your eyes were searching my face for something that I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A smile appeared on your lips. Proud of yourself and how you had undone me, you kissed me. You were pulsating inside of me, but not moving. Heavenly torture. I begged for more, gyrated my hips underneath you, but you were stubborn. And too close to be consumed by our lust too.

Two micro moves later, you stopped breathing. Your sweat was dripping down on me from the tip of your nose; your eyes were closed. A strangled noise left your lips just before you started to breathe again.

I had seen you. I had felt you. And it left me breathless; and not only because your full weight was on my body now. The beauty and surprise of us in this situation was overwhelming. You kissed my temple and rolled off me with a loud groan and a chuckle. Your arm covered your eyes, and your hand was running up and down your stomach. The most handsome man who I had ever been with.

I put my head on your chest, your heartbeat sang a song for me, while I retraced the pattern of the tattoos on your skin. Your eyes were filled with sleep again. I covered us with the crumbled sheet, making sure that the wet spot we left was covering me and not you.

In a while, I would worry about the meaning of it all, but right then I decided to go with the flow and let it happen.

Only the coffee had grown cold.

I hate prompts

Sara’s hands were roaming over the keys of the keyboard. She had always known what to write without giving it too much thought. She sat down, and the words would appear out of nowhere. Page after page were filled this way. It seemed to be a lifetime away now.

It was before Dennis had vanished from her life. Dennis had been her muse. He had been her inspiration. He had made her believe in the beauty of all things. Everything was energy in his eyes, and for a while, he had been her fuel.

Sara covered her face with her hands, shaking her head and letting out a low groan. Chuckling, she cursed. “Damn it, ” she pushed herself away from her desk and stepped to the window. It was dark outside. Pitch black. She could only see her own reflection. It was a sight she had tried to avoid ever since Dennis had left. Her mind threatened to drift from her content present to a grim past.

“Write Sara!” she ordered herself. She drank a glass of tap water and sat down in her chair again. Inspiration was still elusive. Sara began surfing the internet to find something to write about. Something that touched her enough to make her want to put it into words. There was nothing, and she decided to use the help of a site that shared writing prompts. She found hundreds of them. But there was not one that she wanted to work with. “I hate prompts,” she sighed and smiled. Once she had known a man, who used to say the same words. She smiled and let the memory take her away and onto the clouds of a daydream.

Dedicated to R.A. đź’ś

Fate

The hollow is threatening to eat me from the inside out. Everything I was with you is fading away. And it leaves a void. I am missing you. But I forgot who you were for me. I am fading without you. And you keep living your life. People smile at your jokes, or you infuriated them with your eclecticism. I wake up after every lonely night, and our memories keep fading. I can’t remember your smell, and nothing reminds me of your actual presence in my life. But you were there. You were a part of me. You carved yourself out of me, and my empty vessel keeps floating in the wind. Higher and higher. Lighter and lighter. Fading and fading. Until nothing is left of me. Until nothing is left of the person, you once knew.

Could I just….? Could I leave everything behind and start anew?

untitled_20181016

Longing. An ever-growing longing settles behind your eyes. A small frown is etched on your forehead. Laughter or a smile are long lost memories. Remnants of joy and happiness try to remind you of the light you are. But your eyes are closed. You cannot see. An ever-growing longing swallows hope. Longing. Longing to belong to someone else.

untitled_20181014

Connection disconnected. For most parts of the day, he had tried to connect with people. No one had seen him. No one had made time for him. His mind was tired. Exhausted. Was there even any need to be there when he was invisible. He felt disconnected. Connection disconnected.

On s’en fout !

Et au bout d’un certain temps, tu te rends compte que les gens qui te rassurent qu’ils ne partiront jamais, sont les premiers Ă  s’en lasser de toi. Les gens qui te jurent un amour Ă©ternel sont ceux qui ne sont pas joignable quand tu as besoin de support.

A vrai dire, tout le monde s’en fout.

Sois sage ! Ne dĂ©range pas les vies bien structurĂ©s des autres. Surtout, ne crois pas que tu aies une valeur quelconque. Tu n’es qu’une victoire; une trophĂ©e.

Et tu sais qu’ils n’ont rien Ă  faire de tes Ă©motions.

Alors, continue Ă  galĂ©rer ; continue d’ĂŞtre plus qu’ils voient! Continue de te trouver toi-mĂŞme! Parce-que un jour ils ouvrent les yeux et ils ne te reconnaissent plus.

Ce jour lĂ , c’est toi qui sais dire Ă  voix haute : je m’en fout!

fear

Fear. I don’t know fear. I never have. I am not able to feel fear. Well, maybe I am, but I am not allowed to feel it. Fear lets one make mistakes and mistakes are deadly. Fear. I am afraid to feel it. To be paralyzed by it. To let it rule me. But here I am and I feel it creeping up my spine and spreading on my neck. Sweat is forming on my forehead, my view becomes blurry. I cannot afford to lose my senses, but here I am; blind, deaf, mute. I cannot see because sweat is continually dripping into my eyes and I can’t wipe it away or make it stop. I cannot hear because the pounding of my own pulse is the only noise in my head. My blood and my thoughts. White noise. The rest of the world is silent. I am silent too. I am silent. Deaf. Mute. Wordless. Barely existing. Nobody knows that I am alive. If I die, nobody knows that I ever existed. Fear. I was never able to feel fear. Now I do. I made mistakes. They paralyzed me. Fear. I don’t know fear. I am fear. I am ruled by it. Fuck fear. Fuck anxiety. I just want to hear, to breathe, to speak. I want to be me. Fuck fear…

Too late.

Some say it is never too late. But what if it is? It is too late and I am going to go. I am going to go and… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. Because it is too late. It is too late to do things differently. And I don’t want to change my ways anyway. So, I guess I am trapped in my own reluctance to be. What if I cease to exist? What if my breath stops? What if I close my eyes and forget to open them again? What will be my last thought? And if I fall asleep forever, what will be my eternal dream? I don’t want to know. I am here. I exist. I breathe. And I am tired. I am positive and I am tired. Exhausted. I am exhausted. Breathing is. Existing is. Being is.

The music keeps playing. Lives go on. Mine does too. Because I have a lot to learn, a lot to teach. I have a lot of love to give. And smiles to smile. I have millions of hugs to give. And words to listen to; to write; to read.

If I was… But I am not. And the rain falls down in its own way, and the wind blows in its own way. There is nothing more to say.

Green

Green is the colour I associate with you

When I dream of you, you are bathed in a green hue

Green is the colour I feel when I think of you.

The first time I talked to you, you asked me to relax and listen to your voice. Three years later, and I can still remember it vividly. I was cuddled in my purple blanket, wearing nothing but a nightgown. I held the phone to my ear, and my eyes were closed. A sudden indescribable heat engulfed me and it was as if you were next to me, close to me in my room. I knew it couldn’t be, but you knew what I was wearing and you guessed my most intimate fantasies. I felt your presence, and your aura, it was green. It was soothing and so vibrant. I had never experienced anything quite like it. That heat. That colour. That moment. It was perfect bliss. But it didn’t last. And I was never able to recreate it. Until tonight. I was in that state between being awake and being asleep. It has been a while since you were in my dreams (and since you were on my mind like this). Tonight you were. You were standing in front of me, and I felt that familiar heat and I saw the familiar colour green. It was like a veil covering my dream. But the image of you slipped through my fingers. You faded. I tried to hold on, but I was too weak. I woke up (or came to) with a beating heart. And a longing to hear your voice calling me your Sweetie again. Overwhelmed, I couldn’t find sleep again. Did we connect tonight without either of us knowing about it?

Green is the colour of my dreams

Uninvited, you found your way under my sheets

Green is the colour that I see when your soul speaks to me

embers of memories

Embers of memories are glowing in the dark. I want them to burn again. I want them to go out. I want to give up, and I want to keep going. If we only knew. Embers of memories are burning me from within. Sometimes, the heat is comforting; other times, it is destroying me from just underneath my skin. I miss who I didn’t have; dream of opportunities we never dared to take. I am strong enough to fight. I know that I am your missing light. And yet… To have you and to hold you. To let these embers of memories become blazing flames again…