After All This Time? Always.

"[...]somehow the eye of the mind sees him, and the muscles of the mind feel him[...]"

— Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire, 1962

Raven tree. 

https://www.facebook.com/GothicHomeGarden/

“And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.”

— Sylvia Plath

Oh to have a love who holds my heart the way he wants to hold my body.

Vitas Luckus (1943-1987) Together | About 1969 | Vintage print |

A clean pussy is important!

Why waste the potential of wishing for one night when you could create an everafter full of them? I think I’d take it over nothing, but it would just start the heart over in the yearning of it all. Of you. And I’m not sure I could survive that again. For the third time.

To feel the ache of the missing piece found, only to be ripped away again. And willingly? To find the answer to your call, the ebb to your flow? What delight.

What’s the point in limiting the dream to just a breath if it was only ever imaginary in the first place? Why not go all in and lose yourself in the madness you create in the late hours of your day? At least there I know we’re together. At least there we have a purpose, a reason for having been.

Otherwise - one night only serves to light a fire and watch it blaze to a temperature so hot it is doused to contain it. Then you stand and watch the embers struggle for oxygen, for life.