Sunday, May 15, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Whenever you tell me “I’ve been talking about you the whole afternoon” a strange overwhelming sensation comes to me, like burning up and freezing all at the same time. All my limbs grow weak at the very thought of being a watercolor in your mind, I always wonder “what could he have possibly said?” and when I ask you, there is not an answer to be found. I’m always left alone in the same dark ocean of wonder and dreams.
Lying in my bed, I often think about these strange disturbing thoughts that occupy your brain, I often wish I could be a spy and find out everything there is to know about you… I wish I could know what makes you cry, what makes you burn, I wish I could live in your head, I wish I could flow out of your hands with the ink you write and fill every page with murder, violence and sex. every. little. thing.
Oh darling mine, if you ever knew how much I’d like to hijack your brain, find out the most terrible, horrible things you hide, you’d never want to see me again. I want to know you inside and out, I want your whispers, your tears, I want you absolutely and completely, I want to love you til it hurts….
A penny for your thoughts, my darling?
This kind of guy who notices your every move, who loves your lashes black as night and horribly thick like spider legs, notices the changes in the shade of your lipstick, touches you in inappropriate places in public spaces. this kind of guy who wants to own you and pours you glasses of champagne until you can barely remember your name anymore. This kind of guy who likes to see you dress up and paint your face in your own exquisite delicate manner just to have the pleasure to tear it all apart in seconds, just to smear paint from your lips all over your face. This kind of guy who holds you like a flower but who does not ask questions but makes decisions and claims ownership of your body, a guy who takes his time, a guy who decides what you will have for dinner and what you will do during the day while you are together, this kind of guy who makes you feel chained and bound like Andromeda even when he barely can run his own life without making a disaster out of it all. This kind of guy who seems perfectly harmless and innocent but who could still have you on your knees asking for more. Oh baby, once your friends said to me “oh you’ve got him eating from the palm of your hand” but, darling, if only they knew! if only they could see this beautiful kind of black spell you’ve woven around me.
And to think I once believed you were not a dangerous man!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
This fine feathered line between dramatic attachment and sexual obsession, oh baby, how we seem to cross it far too often. I’ve spent far too much time counting and memorizing the moles on your chest and on your back, the feeling of running my fingers through your hair, the clinching jaw that softly and divinely hurts my collarbone when you lay on top of me.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Gifts, lipstick, perfume, books, dinner courses, desserts, champagne, places to go,
Most of these precious things, he picked for me.