My deepest fear isn’t that I’m not good enough for the world, it isn’t that my words won’t touch a million people. I believe in my craft, I have faith in my talent. I have no fear in disappointing them out there, they’ll love one story I write and hate the next book. My deepest fear is not knowing whether or not you’re proud of me.
Haunting my dreams.
Stalking my thoughts.
My words are motivated by the orgasms we’ve shared. The strokes on the keypad can never compare to the strokes across your skin. I hurt you, I broke your heart. No matter my intentions, that’s what happened and I want to love you but I know I can’t.
Loving you is poison baked in a perfectly baked cookie. Sweet, moist, tasty, perfect… but once it’s inside of me it destroys me. How can you love what destroys you? How can you need what has the potential to break you?
I’ve been traveling more lately, spending more nights in hotel rooms. Talking to strangers at restaurant bars, finding solace in my thoughts. Finding prison in my thoughts.
Don’t you ever tell me you don’t love me, I can see it in your eyes. Don’t you ever tell me you don’t need me, I can feel it between your thighs. Your mouth tells me no, your words say stop, but your body trembles. No lace, no cotton, no silk can hide the way your nipples respond to my voice. No door, no screen, no wall can stop me from hearing the emotion in your words.
Lust is such an interesting word. Need, desire, want, hunger… Lust is the word that comes to mind when I can’t sleep and I see your naked body with my eyes wide open. Lust is the word that comes to mind when your moans are ghost under the steam of the shower. Don’t tell me you don’t love me because watching you look back at me, caramel skin on white sheets. Sweat and intensity on a perfect face, if that’s not love… If that’s not love it’s lust and accepting that isn’t something my love can handle.