As his body smothers mine I think of how frightening it would be if he had any more bulk. There is just so much of him that when his tall frame bends around me, he becomes the world ( Read more... )

Ok. I have to admit something to you. It seems to me that we are crossing some kind of line, passing from familiarity into intimacy. I see myself becoming attached to you, and that scares me. You might write it off as a fault of character but believe me, there is good reason for this. Unwilling as I am to act as my own psychoanalyst, I am not naïve ( Read more... )

The story of fire is an old one, going back to the time when the world was steeped in darkness and the devil had not created his starry skies ( Read more... )

There are smells which are so much a part who I am that their origins are somewhat lost to me. First there is the smell of my parents; my mother’s milky skin but also her sweat, its potent sweetness, and my dad’s Lagerfeld cologne, permeating the back of my nostrils. I used to play in their closet when I was little, rubbing my cheek against the ( Read more... )

Our generation is a hard-hearted one compared to the ones that have come before it-our notion of love is hardly a romantic one. We do not rush headlong into love, but rather approach it from a rational standpoint. Despite our insatiable appetite for love we shy away from it, and when we fall, we do it kicking and screaming. We are apprehensive ( Read more... )

The acts of love have always been scared to me; the casual pursuit of them horrifies me. In my mind each must be performed with acute awareness, with purpose, passion and meaning. The body cannot be given away unless the soul has been possessed first. Surely love allows the merging of the body and the spirit, such that oneness resembles a near ( Read more... )

I was born to love-my body made for love, my soul molded in the spirit of love. Love is instinctual to me, living an act of love. Sensualist that I am, I cannot imagine an existence without love, its pleasures and delights or its pains and sorrows. I desire love in its entirety, desire that complex entity which permeates and transforms every facet ( Read more... )

( Trash you shouldn’t be reading in the first place-love at gunpoint and the cutthroat beauty of emotions. )

Why is it easier to love from a distance? Love need not be an open grave.

I don't know if you have ever felt like slipping away from everyone that matters, losing your grip on the fragile thread that connects you to them, falling back into nothingness.

I wonder if like a traumatic childhood episode, a devastating first love can bring on neurosis. If we are bound to carry forth and channel all repressed feelings into every intimate relationship thereafter.

Does our first love define us? Does it shape how we love? (how much and in how many ways?)