A lithe body always blanketed by black robes- I admit to late night fantasies, of my violent removal of these obtrusive garments and explore the valleys and plains, the caverns and niches of pleasure that are uniquely possessed by his anatomy.
Oh, pray, extremities are lust.
A primitive and crude knowledge, a sentiment with many faces that is beyond superficial is the truth *I* possess.
He is so open. As open as I am closed. His embrace is as welcome as my crossed arms.
Polar opposites.
We come from too different worlds.
How… *queer*. To feel this way, to be this way.
You are ignorant, boy.
I see you, when you think you are alone. You whine and wail at your imagined lack of being loved. You say you can count them. You always come out one person short.
"`The Boy Who Lived`, pshaw," you say. Potter- you *did* live.
Appreciate who you are and have become. Do not dwell on the trivial facts of your living relatives or your vile Potions master. To desire more is utter selfishness.
Take it from someone who lives on the level of 'skin-deep'. Now, *that* is undeniable superficiality.
-à
All pain and desire
My obsessions and longings have meshed into one unidentifiable emotion.
So confusing and complex.
Yet palpable.
I can almost touch it
It is amazing how much stress a single muscle in the human body can hold.
The emotions have become physical.
Uncontrollable.
I have long prided myself in having control of my mind and heart.
I think. I do not feel. To acknowledge feeling is spineless. Feeling is weak. I have always thought so- and that is where I get my courage and confidence. My pride's foundation is this one unshakable notion about myself. Why is then that all I can comprehend... 'suffer'... is a contradiction to this? I envy those who have these feelings. Who rush blindly on- and still pick up pieces of their torn self after and start over, despite a long dragging process- of healing. Then I realize I am afraid. Control and caution are a towering facade to conceal fear.
This has turned me upside down.
Risk is out of the question.
So long have I kept from it- I KNOW I do not know what to do once I start.
I am lost.
Have turned bitter and hopeless.
The armor I have unconsciously put on since I witnessed the excruciating pain love is capable of is shattering inside. Still I build I new one- until I have a vision of myself, enclosed in my shell... ruins of defense distance me from the truth, a brilliant yet brittle wall is torn down over and over but hastily constructed again. They look at me as if I was strong. Yet, I am nothing more than a small, frail puppeteer who entertains the audience with a hulking strongman.
Of course, no one bothers to know who puts on the show- as long as they enjoy.
Am I put to earth to be fanciful view to those who do not know the treasure they possess? The chest of gold is the curative power they have over themselves. So long have not been exposed to the ill, so sheltered that one pathetic whip will break me down.
So, you see, my love- this is how it is. You will be my eternal pleasurable torment. A misty fog of 'what ifs and if onlys' I have no strength to chase, even if it was hovering above me like a guardian deity. I am no one to admire. My attractions are only outside. That is also, why I must exclude myself from the bright world, to shun any happiness that dares come close to me. They will only be overwhelmed in a dark world of despair that is my heart. Anguish has made a home in my soul. Regrets are the hypocritical delusions I live for, except one. I live for you. The sinister wreckage and evil devastation I have unwittingly wrought on, in a vain attempt at protection- of heart, is my most tangible mystery. No light has penetrated it- and never will. However much I long to hold you and pour out my love for you, I cannot do such without also releasing a strained dam of suppressed depression and inner turmoil. You will NOT be an accessory to my freedom. Playing this role would destroy you. Best keep destruction to those who have been destroyed.
Stay away, sweet lamp of hope. Hang from the clouds and dare not descend. The reality of my world will extinguish the only gleam of happiness that my illusions play on. It keeps complete darkness at bay.
I am feared.
I fear.
I am cold.
Numb.
ALONE.
To freely love you means to vanquish my borne demons.
My demons make me who I am.
-à
I've seen the way you look at me. You think I fail to distinguish the lust emanating from you, in waves far greater that your hate for me?
You *are* ignorant, boy.
Dislike is the most over-used pretense for deep-seated attraction.
Draco Malfoy, an inconsequential temptation of Harry Potter
Frivolous.
Not to me.