december 22, 2018
a quiet hand on the thigh, unimposing. you were trembling, and falling in love shamelessly. you wither as soon as it grows within you, unabashedly taking the life out of you, growing somewhere within you. your body is hell, and your soul is not yours anymore—you have less to give. a grieving hand, surrendering, and this, you knew you would have to.
my darling, was i really good to you? my darling, is this being good to you?
a/n: scrapped off from a letter near christmas
