20230916 - 06:31
I tell her things I haven’t even admitted to myself. It makes me think, reflect on my life. Where I am, where I’ve been. Sometimes the intensity is burning me, and I become afraid. That I can’t keep up. That I’m not fireproof. The deeper we go, the harder it becomes to be honest. To admit those faults that haven’t ever seen the sun. What will become of me? She gives me the world and I’m left with this weird feeling in my chest, the habitual craving of something that isn’t there. But now, everything is. I want to write about the sexual. How it affects me. I want to write about her body. She tells me it’s the soul that matters. I can hear her clarification to that last line already. For sure it’s the soul that I saw first. It’s what caught me. What I fell for. But that other part has ben suppressed in me for so long. I’m trying to make them one again. But lust was equated with shame. Arrogance had a hold of my heart, thinking I was above, better, that I was somehow more pure. I wanted to believe that anyways, but I always knew where it stemmed from. Thinking I wasn’t good enough. That I could never be loved. Now my body is afraid. Of opening up to that hurt. To the extent of it. Of letting itself feel. Still, it suppresses. It tells me what I’m terrified to admit. That I’ve learned to love. That some days I’m not sure if I’ve learned to let myself be loved.