11-05-2017, 08:56 PM
Ellyse
I have the tendency of getting very physical,
so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
She can feel his wonderment in the heaviness of his gaze, and perhaps that is why she is so deeply focused on the frothing waves as the sea caresses the shoreline, drawing particles of sand away with the tide, where the intensity of her confession is safe enough to be adrift at sea – should she shy away from giving too much of herself away. There is no turning back once the cadence of her softly spoken words have reached him; enveloping him – she cannot take it back; she cannot hide away from the certainty of what lay before her. She had unveiled her heart too often, and it had burned her, leaving her with the unseen scarring on a tired and weary heart.
She had been wistful, youthful once – enamored by wisdom, by might, and she had fallen in love once with a soul too old and too damaged to give, let alone to take. She had been impulsive once; swallowed by the sheer strength and intensity of infatuation and physical attraction, only to have time itself delve the dagger of veracity deep into her chest. She had loved, and she had lost – and yet, beneath the heartache, the uncertainty, and the anguish, she always had him – an unyielding, unwavering presence.
She had not see him then –
(Foolish me)
– but she can see him now.
His voice is so low, she can barely feel the thrum of his rough voice against her cheek, and she cannot quiet her hammering, rapidly beating heartbeat – knowing too well the sting of rejection, and knowing that the ferocity of emotion pooling within her chest might not be reciprocated, and so she had given it time. The tremors and hallucinations had become few and far between with each passing day. And oh, the nightmares! The blood, the carnage, the sheer weight of loss returned to her each and every night when the sun fell beyond the horizon, draping blackness all around her, but slowly, quietly, the nightmares began to slip away, leaving her restless – she knew that he, too, must have a burden of his own to bear –
The greatness of her affection for him did not fade; it grew - it blossomed each time she caught a glimpse of father and son, merely silhouettes against the fading sunrise – it blossomed each time she caught his eye, and a small but genuine smile was shared. It blossomed when words became meaningless, when he would come to her in the dark of night, to soothe her restless and broken sleep – and it blossomed when she found him, weeping, falling apart each time the memory of his grievous sin washed over him like the tireless, ravenous tide.
I know, he says, before pivoting the warmth of his body away from her own – she does not fear that he will go, that he will disappear from her side ( he had seen her unravel before, he had seen her trembling with afterbirth clinging to her quivering legs, he had seen her broken and bleeding and falling apart but never had he faltered). His whiskered lips brush against her cheek, her neck, her chest – where her heart is beating so loudly, thrusting against her rib cage – and she cannot hide the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, or the soft chuckle that surely follows.
”I want to believe that,” (I need to believe that) she divulges with a soft hitch in her breath as the heat of his mouth begins to touch beyond the chasteness of her cheek. She can feel the truth of his declaration in her chest, the warmth of knowing that he had never been anything but honest with her, and the warmth is trailing down along the column of her neck to her shoulder, where his caress becomes fervent and heated, with the warmth of his breath caressing the muscle beneath. A soft hum of awakening vibrates across the darkness of his neck from her throat, where her pale lips brush and caress, traveling the length to the ridge of his shoulder and along his flank as his own mouth touches where coiled muscle meets delicate, sensitive skin.
A soft gasp hitches again against his hip, her breath caressing the darkness of his scarred skin as her hip presses against the heat of his mouth, igniting a flickering ember that slowly traverses each tender, sensitive nerve-endings, setting fire to a desire and a passion that had grown from so much more than the empty physical need and instinctual yearning that had coupled them so long ago.
”Dahmer,” she croons softly to him, breathless and waiting, never wanting anything more – never wanting him to stop.
She had been wistful, youthful once – enamored by wisdom, by might, and she had fallen in love once with a soul too old and too damaged to give, let alone to take. She had been impulsive once; swallowed by the sheer strength and intensity of infatuation and physical attraction, only to have time itself delve the dagger of veracity deep into her chest. She had loved, and she had lost – and yet, beneath the heartache, the uncertainty, and the anguish, she always had him – an unyielding, unwavering presence.
She had not see him then –
(Foolish me)
– but she can see him now.
His voice is so low, she can barely feel the thrum of his rough voice against her cheek, and she cannot quiet her hammering, rapidly beating heartbeat – knowing too well the sting of rejection, and knowing that the ferocity of emotion pooling within her chest might not be reciprocated, and so she had given it time. The tremors and hallucinations had become few and far between with each passing day. And oh, the nightmares! The blood, the carnage, the sheer weight of loss returned to her each and every night when the sun fell beyond the horizon, draping blackness all around her, but slowly, quietly, the nightmares began to slip away, leaving her restless – she knew that he, too, must have a burden of his own to bear –
The greatness of her affection for him did not fade; it grew - it blossomed each time she caught a glimpse of father and son, merely silhouettes against the fading sunrise – it blossomed each time she caught his eye, and a small but genuine smile was shared. It blossomed when words became meaningless, when he would come to her in the dark of night, to soothe her restless and broken sleep – and it blossomed when she found him, weeping, falling apart each time the memory of his grievous sin washed over him like the tireless, ravenous tide.
I know, he says, before pivoting the warmth of his body away from her own – she does not fear that he will go, that he will disappear from her side ( he had seen her unravel before, he had seen her trembling with afterbirth clinging to her quivering legs, he had seen her broken and bleeding and falling apart but never had he faltered). His whiskered lips brush against her cheek, her neck, her chest – where her heart is beating so loudly, thrusting against her rib cage – and she cannot hide the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth, or the soft chuckle that surely follows.
”I want to believe that,” (I need to believe that) she divulges with a soft hitch in her breath as the heat of his mouth begins to touch beyond the chasteness of her cheek. She can feel the truth of his declaration in her chest, the warmth of knowing that he had never been anything but honest with her, and the warmth is trailing down along the column of her neck to her shoulder, where his caress becomes fervent and heated, with the warmth of his breath caressing the muscle beneath. A soft hum of awakening vibrates across the darkness of his neck from her throat, where her pale lips brush and caress, traveling the length to the ridge of his shoulder and along his flank as his own mouth touches where coiled muscle meets delicate, sensitive skin.
A soft gasp hitches again against his hip, her breath caressing the darkness of his scarred skin as her hip presses against the heat of his mouth, igniting a flickering ember that slowly traverses each tender, sensitive nerve-endings, setting fire to a desire and a passion that had grown from so much more than the empty physical need and instinctual yearning that had coupled them so long ago.
”Dahmer,” she croons softly to him, breathless and waiting, never wanting anything more – never wanting him to stop.
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone;
you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
@[Dahmer]