And I’m a stubborn bitch most of the time, we know this. Too stubborn to give up on a future. But this has become too loud and I cannot ignore: there is no present for us. No guilt or shame, no anger or lust, will alter this man made truth. I am not too stubborn to accept what is.
But what is there but now? I, trapped in a body and mind that can seemingly retain no new experiences. I, trapped in a self that has no edges or form, I have nothing but now. We are not now, so we are not. And the future means nothing to me at all.
Have you tried to bury yourself halfway up, and cover love to present it as like? The buried part rots and putrefies until there is nothing left to uncover and only the like remains, mildly interested but generally unbothered.
I crave endings, I crave the end. But God let me accept these new beginnings. I can no longer wait for the spring of a tired winter. I choose to turn my head to lush, warm beds filled with new faces that are filled with new questions and characters and stories. Where I am desired as an untouched discovery, and tasted as a delicacy. Where eyes grow wider and hearts beat faster from the simple desire to know each other. Where I can breathe air that does not know the scent of obligation, disdain, or tiresome explanations, but smells only of laughter and beginnings.
