Journal, Diary, & Blogging / Love affair, with the boy from the beach.

Nothing eases this. I've been holding my breath, for days then weeks, and you haven't eased the sentences in my head yet. Things are still jumbled and mixed. Maybe I was wrong in hoping

that you could

ever possible

manage

to fix

this.

So my sin is knowing you and touching your face, the sin is wanting you back in my bed and back in my days. I liked how I was scared to sleep, scared of what I could miss in the next moment. So I fought my hardest not to sleep, not to need the heavy eyes, because I would have rather looked at yours. My sin is this want, so profuse and so immense. And I want you in the worst kind of way, too. Even if you would be content to walk from my life, easily, I would allow you to stay; even if it was only for you to be there to use my body and play games with my head. Just because, angel boy, you wake in me something I never allow myself : want. And god only know that you're beautiful, body sculpted by angels themselves.

So none of this has eased, at least not yet. I'm waiting for the Lioness to soften her voice, to only whisper. But while I would be content with silence,her slience, she won't be content without bones.

I find it ironic that you said I write without making sense, that it's all just a mixed up mess. The thing is, what you were reading was so simple, uncomplicated. It was about you under my skin, and how I wanted more.[Good god, what happened to a lack of want?] It was about you, and you didn't see it.Ironic.

So I'll just hope that you remember what I made for you, when I shouldn't have had you on my mind. I hope that those words and the beauty I supposedly still posess are enough to bring you back,here in my bed, and keep you.

...

The day we spent together, the days really, were so amazing. They made me feel so alive and dead at the same time- how did you manage that? The questions number too many, and all these jokes you play aren't funny. You're breaking my heart and I think you know it. You're breaking my heart and you couldn't care less.

What reality you give me is estranged. It's demented. How is it that you were 100 yards away, six stories high, with me looking on and waiting? How is it that that small ammount of distance ripped away my clothes and pushed me into the currents? It did. You were so close and too far, and I wanted to die. I even tried. But words pulled me back to shore. Not words of yours, but of people who do love. You, however, do not love.

If your life is within me,I'm absolutely fucked. Beyond imagination. i don't know what I'll do or what to tell you.

I don't know if you would care.

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