Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love?
But this has moved
past love to mania.
This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.
Hold hard then, heart.
This way at least you live.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
The gap between compassion and surrender is love’s darkest, deepest region.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
But I’m already two states away, lying with a boy
I let drink rain from the pulse at my throat.
No оne leaves me, I’m the оne that chooses.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
Oh, I don’t mean you’re handsome, not the way people think of handsome. Your face seems kind. But your eyes - they’re beautiful. They’re wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest оn fire.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell. I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
There is more here,
in this оne
hug,
and I know
you know
it
even if
you will not
acknowledge it.
I
will never hold
anyone else
the same way
again.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
When you are in love, you love every part of the body; when you are not in love there is always a part of the body you want to push away. When you are in love, after the desire is satisfied, you still love the body of the beloved. When you are not in love you want to push it away.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
When you look at her,
if you do not feel
blessed to have her.
She is not yours to keep.
She is another man’s blessing.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
Who said that love was fire?
I know that love is ash.
It is the thing which remains
When the fire is spent.
The holy essence of experience.
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