Dear George, I Love you
Such is that fire of life, that delicious kiss. The feeling of hot flesh under sensitive fingertips, that quickened breath and a taste of black velvet behind your warm, kiss-sore lips. God! Can I get enough of this? Can I ever stop?
I'm not being as prosey as normal... normally I am bitter and quick to anger, to sudden violent surges that make me feel as if each nerve in my body has leapt away from me and surely I'm leaving that angry flesh behind. But when I am with you I cannot stop, I cannot control myself, even more than when I am revelling in the thing that I used to think was my only being and escape from this solitude. Ah! Jesus!
The very look of those tantalizing eyes, the flick of your tongue on my neck and that hard, hot warmth when I am all over you, inside you.
You are everything to me. My only love born from my only hate, once spake by Juliet in pure spite reguarding her lover Romeo. Are you my Juliet or my Romeo? How can I tell which side I am upon when I'm thrashing. I hated you, oh how I hated you. The very sight of you offended my eyes, the very sound of your voice vexed me to the core. You were responsible for the moments of my most violent acts. Pushed,
pulled. I had the collar, you had the lead, and you wrapped your hands around me and your voice dug and you commanded me and I listened.
Listen to me? WHAT AM I? What am I saying? How is this possible... how am I possible?
I was convinced of happiness before. A pregnant wife, love and warmth, discepline, a home... Heartbreak, pain, rape, misery and you. You. God damn it all! Why is it always you?
Your brown eyes, so hurt, your delicious body each curve of your body, that delicious scent of sleek sex. I can almost feel your teeth on my chest, feel your body all around me. Can you feel me? That pressure when we're one person and all we smell is sweat. I feel you, yes, your hands. I hear your voice.
You didn't promise me that I'd feel better. You didn't promise me that I'd stop hating myself. I have... sort of. There are still short stabbing pains like a knife when I look at your bite marks. Would anyone believe you bite and growl and throw yourself back in sex, pressing that hot body against me. All your professionalism collapses in an animalistic cry as you convulse and throw away your mask and reveal the real human under all that make-up. That burning anger, that control, that passion that you contain within yourself.
You tricked me one night. You were trying to snub me, to make me go away. I was pestering you, mostly because I was mad at you more than myself. You turned to throw a quick, stinging bit of salt into my open wounds and captivated me. We spoke more, something ignited, and... I kissed you. Like I've never kissed anyone before. Ever. I almost cry thinking about it, especially that cold wet metal on the door of your car, that slippery freezing glass.
I can hear your calming voice and that other piece of you, the soothing, comforting parenting voice that lulls me. Especially when you sing. You have such a pretty voice... I wish you'd sing more often.
I can hear it now - so soft.
II close my eyes, I feel the cold world around me. It hurts just a bit. It's wet, too... wetness from my head. It hurts, but not as much as a moment ago. My hand twitches and I feel cold, liquid spotted glass. Feels good in my hand./I
I'm glad you're with me.
I can't be with you anymore, can I? I have this...
I'm terrified.
How am I supposed to face tomorrow?
I'm in trouble.
I hurt myself. I don't think I did it on purpose.
I'm shaking.
That telephone pole just appeared.
I'm angry.
It got in the fucking way.
I'm aroused.
I can't stop thinking about making love one more time.
I'm losing it.
Where did you go?
I'm lost.
Why did you go?
I'm going to die.
I don't want to!
I'm in love.
I suppose that's all that matters.
