Now I have freezing hands and bloodless veins.
Reach out. Go to him. Grab him. Don't let him go. Force him to look at you. Force yourself to look at him. Force it, even though you don't want to. Remember when you loved him. Remember that you never stopped loving him. Grab onto him. Don't let him go. Dig your fingers into his skin when he struggles, because he's Sam and he's stubborn and he has to put up a fight. Fight him. Don't yell at him, because you know Sam and you know that yelling at him only pushes him away. Let him be mad at you—you know you deserve it. Recall telling him that he meant nothing to you and hate yourself for it. Drown in how much you hate yourself because he hates you, too. Tear yourself apart. Tear yourself open. Tell him how sorry you are, how fucking terribly, incredibly sorry you are and how worthless you are and how you don't deserve him because you don't—he's Sam and you're you, he's good and you're bad. Don't lie to him. Ask him why he loves you. Wince when he tells you there's a goodness inside of you. Close your eyes when he asks you why. Say, I'm not good. I can't be good, because then people expect it of you. Cry when he cries over you.
I'm so tired.
Cry. Cry. Let the tears fall. Let them fall over your cheeks, dancing in red visions down your skin and cry even harder when Sam reaches up a tentative finger to wipe them away. Know that he's always been there. Convince yourself that this is true, that it isn't just the bond. Watch as Sam rests his forehead against yours. Breathe. Open the lungs that you haven't used in years. Open them and inhale, take in everything. Scent him. Learn him. Teach him. Run your hands up his chest until your arms are wrapped around his neck. Submit to him. Force yourself out and open and down and give yourself to Sam. Give yourself to him.
Last night I dreamt I'd forgotten my name.
Think about how he is always on top. Remind yourself that he has and always will have you, that you'll always be his, that he'll always be able to call you his possession, his mate, his toy, his boyfriend, his maker, his viking, his warrior, and never care that someone might call you weak for it. Panic when, for a moment, you wonder how some boy, some human boy, whipped you into submission. Want to run. Want to get out. Want to push all of the feelings down because they're too much but Sam sees the look in your eyes—Sam knows because he always knows because he knows you better than you know yourself and that fucking terrifies you. Let it terrify you. Know that no matter what Sam will always have you.
I'm so lonely.
Crumble when he tells you he loves you. Search the endless rivers that are his eyes and take note of the colors they are—they change when he has different emotions, and right now the inner ring around his pupil is a dark, harsh brown because of the tears threatening to fall. Honor him, kiss him, lull him back into you eve know you fucking know you don't deserve it. Tell him you love him. Tell him again. Tell him one more time because you're not sure if he knows you really meant it the first two times, or ever before this moment. Delight in his lips against yours, those soft lips, those lips that mean everything.
This is crazy.
Don't insult him. Don't patronize him. Don't threaten him or anger him. Motivate him. Inspire him. Honor him. Encourage him. Cherish him. You fucking cherish him like he's a porcelain doll, like he's a delicate little flower that if you break you'll break right along with it because you know, you just fucking know that you'll die without him. Smirk when he calls you his viking. Shiver when his fingers slide under your shirt. Celebrate his warmth and the fact that even though he's a vampire, he's still warm. Love him. Love him even when he doesn't want you to. Love him when he tells you not to. Love him because you know that deep in you, deep in your nature, in your brain, next to the part that tells you to thirst for blood, that tells you to die in the sun, there is a part that tells you to love him—it's basic, seeded, rooted into you, carved into your bones like an Enochian love spell. Just fucking love him. Drive yourself crazy with how much you love him. Watch as it takes over everything. Listen to your thoughts and how you have an uncanny ability to make everything about Sam even when it has nothing to do with him. Torture yourself with feelings of love, of human emotion, and then smile because it isn't torture at all, if feels good and it feels right and you know it and Sam knows it, you know he knows it.
I wish I was the moon tonight.
Follow the crease of his brow when he moans your name. Watch his head fall backwards as he offers himself to you. Kiss him when does. Place your lips against his and feel him, feel every single part of him through his lips and through your hands. Hold his hands. Let that be enough. Let the touch of your fingertips be enough because as long as a part of you is always holding onto him, you'll be okay.