I wrote this a few days ago to one of my heart friends in Berlin:
At least it wasn’t death by a thousand cuts, like in Jessica Jones. That seems increasingly painful and escapable. Silence is the one stab that will slice off a major body part that may have otherwise been taken for granted. The shock of it meant that she didn’t actually believe it happened. The one moment he was there, accompanying her through her day, the next, gone. A ghost.
Ghosts hurt the most. Their silhouettes are there and present and a constant reminder that was once real is no more. The girl is in pain and reeling. It was so confusing. She knew that he thought of her, she knew that he craved the life they could have together. So why suddenly do this?
It was a normal message. One that didn’t need a response. He feared normal. Detested it. She hoped that one day he would see that in that now sad, desperate message, what she was really desperate for: the chance to tell him that he was the sun to her moon. The obvious truth that he was a light person attracted to dark and she was a dark person who needed the light, and that was why they were so perfect for each other. She wanted to tell him that his voice made the sea flow through her body, and his tone caressed her spine, embracing it in it’s warmth. She wanted to tell him that she has never been able to trust anybody else’s touch but his, and she has no logical explanation as to why – she was young, how could she have known that he would be the only one?
Her mind screamed no, don’t speak, wait. But her heart couldn’t take it. It needed to protect itself, but it also had to connect. WHY THE DISCONNECTION. If they communicate so well? Unless he was lying. She cannot believe that he was. She believes it is simply too soon. She hopes that he will see past the message to everything else she wants so much to tell him. The stuff she knows he will see too. But instead, she’s been stabbed by a ghost she never had at all.
When someone makes your dreams come true, it’s hard to believe they were ever real in the first place. At least the memories (dreams?) are real.
She wonders if this is all because he made her cum once. The first time. The only time by a man.
It cannot be. Some things are transcendent. Like ghosts.
Once upon a time, two lovers met for the first time. It was young and fresh and innocent and unstoppable, until she stopped it. She saw more, knowing that if she ever slept with him, he would own her. She made her exit in a panic. Years went by, and they never thought of each other except as occasional happy memories of youth.
The first time she reached out for him, he replied. They chatted, but never met.
Years later, she did it again. This time they met. They did not become friends. He terrified her in the only way that matters. In the only way she wanted. He was still white hot with life, and she suddenly realised she had been sleeping. In a flash, he was gone, leaving her with a smile on her face.
She reached out again, this time knowing fully what she was asking, but his silence gave her the answer. One she didn’t want. In her heart, she knew it wasn’t over, but she moved on with her life anyway; mainly because she had juicy tits and he only liked petite ones.
After a lifetime (and then some) of fucking the life out of and into everything, his old age rendered him unable to fuck at will. He had started using a cane to walk and struggled to get out of bed in the morning, but insisted on dressing up regardless of whether he left the house. Then, one day, he remembered her. He wondered what she was up to. He came across the details of her wake, and decided to go pay his respects.
He arrived as the centre was closing. Approaching her open coffin, he saw her lifeless body lying there, pale and haunting. He touched her face to say goodbye and found himself getting really hard, really fast. This hadn’t happened in a long time without Mr Blue, and suddenly he found himself climbing on top of her body and unbuttoning her dress. He kissed her face, felt her cold taut stomach; he pressed his hands along where her tits used to be (at last small, non-existent; simply scars). The pressure of his body on top of hers caused the juices within to pool inside her frozen cunt, convincing him that he had made her wet from beyond the dead, which excited him even more. Just before he entered her, he wanted to get a taste, a reminder of their early encounter. He lowered himself and remembered the concept of munting, punching her stomach to suck the juices from between her legs, licking as ferociously as he could – his tongue, while still young and pink, sadly moved at a far slower pace, but it didn’t matter. The pleasure was the same. Now he was ready to finish, so he pulled himself up and rubbed his cock along her grey creamy crack before entering her, slowly at first – for her pleasure. He edged in deeper and deeper and it turned into it’s own music, with a smooth yet rhythmic pace. Eventually he crescendoed in both speed and vigour, despite her stillness and his ageing body. He pulled out just in time to spray all over her. He collapsed, at last truly happy, and quite proud of the fact that she would be buried in his cum.
As she gazed at them from the beyond, at his body breathing heavily on top of hers, she smiled to herself and thought lovingly: “That was definitely worth the wait.”
don’t forget me.
I’m still here.
there is a hero inside
that bursts forth blossoms the
same way Superman reveals his
it floods us; leaving petals in our
hair as we exit the building.
you sit back with wet eyes
spying on past loves losing tears
it’s not charity. i am beating them out of you. I will howl and whisper you deserve it
you missed the life you could have lived.
over the hours you spent in a ball
over the hours that dissolve to goddamn nostalgia
bruised and sinister
you think I like you? I pity you. You are the worst human.
You’ve laughed and you cried and you’ve been angry. You could have done it with others. That’s life. You chose isolation. And now, how the hell will you get it back it’s lost.
you deserve it. Go fuck yourself. Keep fucking your loneliness.
he doesn’t love you.
you were never meant for joy. or the warmth of a hearty laugh. or for the bravery of someone’s arms. for its own sake – to live beyond definitions, especially someone elses.
go to the fridge and get more food. this body is awake trying to fight me, but i’m still here.
i have scorn and rage on my side. you are too weak to fight me. you are too weak to carry me with you. wehther you fight or not, I will be with you.
i am your rage.
you can either stay still or get moving.
i will always be here. you missed your chance to silence me.
Thank you, Marvin.
“When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”