When There's So Much Light, Why Do I Feel So Dark?

Clenched over and sweat rolling out of every pore on my skin and I've buried my face into my pillow, I'm trying so hard to forget your face but every time I close my eyes there you, beautiful brown eyes piercing my soul and giving me that look, that quiet subtle look of reverence and sadness and strength and I can't help it.

I love you.

Jerk away from the wall, the covers flying and the bed beneath me is squeaking from the ferocity of my body's shaking and I haven't stopped since you touched me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for telling you to get in my car, I had no intentions of that happening, it wasn't my intentions, it wasn't my intentions, I'm so sorry... And I'm torn, jerking in the covers so intwined with the softness of your lips and I can't bear this, now I know what I'm missing and I'm craving them, craving that tender softness so precious with the subtle taste of everything you are. The words you send to me, the words you say to me pounding over and over in my head like neon lights and fireworks being thrown at my eyes and I'm blinded by the butterflies filling my entire body and I can't think, I can't think.

Primal, carnal, bestial urges from that place that I've tried so hard to keep closed, barracaded and I'm pressing against the steel walls praying that the chains hold as the padlock bursts like a mortar shell from the integral corner and like a parade of bulls the emotions and feelings I've tried to keep hidden are running rampant through my veins, bruising me from the inside out with their intensity. Things like pinning you against the car, my fingers snaking up your cheek to get tangled in your hair and pulling you close to me and covering my lips in kerosene to kiss you with the fire you ignite within me. Things like kissing your neck and ever so lightly kissing your ear, whispering sweet nothings as my finger tips, rough and calloused from art and guitar lift the seamed edge of your hoodie just enough to be able to find skin and I'm tracing runes, intricate and gentle on your stomach painting pictures of the life I want to give you, of the life I'm working towards for us and you, your head rolls back and the stars catch your eyes in a sharp intake of air so filled with lust and clouded with the cold that neither of us can feel because we're keeping each other warm...

I wish I could claw my mind clean, tearing out every one of these thoughts that jeopordize your happiness and what you have and what you want.

I'm sorry. This isn't what you want and I'm sorry. The heart is a fickle thing with no boundries. There is nothing to keep it confined, to tell it what it can and can't do. It does as it pleases. Maybe I can gut mine out, gut myself like game and keep locked away disconnected and rotton in a safe until I have need for it again.

I love you. And I hate myself for it more and more every day.

~Alisa