My flesh radiates heat, a reflection of the fiery inferno you’ve fanned inside of me.
For weeks now it has been burning, searing my veins with its bright lightning flame.
For weeks we have surrendered control of one another’s pleasure.
For weeks I have burned ever hotter, writhing in agonizing denial, gasping your name while riding the edge…
The E D G E…
And with my name tripping off your tongue you have done the same.
For weeks we have denied one another.
For. Weeks.
It is not a game.
It is a gift.
Tonight the feast of famine is final.
I Got My Feet On The Ground And I Don’t Go To Sleep To Dream
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(Thank you, Fiona Apple, for providing the perfect post title.)
I am not sleeping well.
They say, “Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
I’ve never considered myself to be small.
Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.
~ Arthur Golden