06-25-2020, 11:49 PM
“I know when you go
down all your darkest roads
I would have followed all the way
to the graveyard.”
down all your darkest roads
I would have followed all the way
to the graveyard.”
There are days that she wishes she could change. That she wishes she did not cave to temptation so easily, that she was not so empty and so broken that she would seek solace in any that would offer it. She wonders, always, what it would be like to give herself entirely to just one person, if maybe all the fragments of herself would come together in such a way that she would never fathom moments like this. Moments pressed into an almost stranger. A moment that she knows will stretch into something longer, until her heart is again scattered to another corner of the world, wedged in the ribcage of someone that may or may not come back.
They all started as moments. Moments of weakness, moments of lust, moments of fear. Moments that she expected to turn to dust but secretly prayed they wouldn’t.
He presses into her and she isn’t sure what kind of moment he will be. She isn’t even sure what she wants him to be, because she knows it is selfish for her to want more than what she already has. She is selfish for wanting to pretend to be something he would want, to turn herself into something he might miss. She is an awful, wretched thing for the way she presses back into him, for the way she runs her lips over the muscles of his shoulder and then beneath his wing to trace across the ribs beneath it. “I’m not going to leave,” she tells him, her voice a murmur against his skin, her hip leaning against his touch. “But I think if you knew me, Illum, if you knew anything about me at all, you would never want me.”
Her mouth finds his skin again, the warmth of her kiss and her touch against him making the frost melt away. She wants him to remember her like this, to remember her as the pristine angel he thinks she is. She wants to make this memory and keep it before he discovers all of her flaws and her transgressions. Maybe he is meant to be a moment that only exists right now — for there to be someone, just one soul, that never has to know how corrupt she can be.
“I am a terrible, selfish woman though,” she whispers as she touches more of him, as her glowing sides push and press needily against him, “and I want you to want me.”
They all started as moments. Moments of weakness, moments of lust, moments of fear. Moments that she expected to turn to dust but secretly prayed they wouldn’t.
He presses into her and she isn’t sure what kind of moment he will be. She isn’t even sure what she wants him to be, because she knows it is selfish for her to want more than what she already has. She is selfish for wanting to pretend to be something he would want, to turn herself into something he might miss. She is an awful, wretched thing for the way she presses back into him, for the way she runs her lips over the muscles of his shoulder and then beneath his wing to trace across the ribs beneath it. “I’m not going to leave,” she tells him, her voice a murmur against his skin, her hip leaning against his touch. “But I think if you knew me, Illum, if you knew anything about me at all, you would never want me.”
Her mouth finds his skin again, the warmth of her kiss and her touch against him making the frost melt away. She wants him to remember her like this, to remember her as the pristine angel he thinks she is. She wants to make this memory and keep it before he discovers all of her flaws and her transgressions. Maybe he is meant to be a moment that only exists right now — for there to be someone, just one soul, that never has to know how corrupt she can be.
“I am a terrible, selfish woman though,” she whispers as she touches more of him, as her glowing sides push and press needily against him, “and I want you to want me.”
ryatah