in my dream

it was still us, but it was as if we were having sex with each other for the first time. but we also weren’t. we were performing it as such; it didn’t make it any less tender—every bit of flesh exposed was precious and not an inch was left that wasn’t kissed or held tenderly like a baby. i like it like that, every time i’ve had it like that.

do you know what i mean? silly but so sweet—faces and noses like the birth and death of the dinosaurs.

i like to keep my hands on his chest and when he leans into me they bend past their flexing point. we rolled around until i was in extended child’s pose and for some reason my eyes flooded with tears and they streamed up my face rather than down. my emotions sometimes work inwards out or outwards in—i don’t know how it’s determined, or when i am porous vs impermeable. what seeds i plant and which ones i sow even though i know that they will kill me inside.

these were the questions we asked, i asked, with one foot on the ground always.

i keep doing that thing where i am walking and walking and i look at every person as if they are a stranger. and then some time later i realize, ah, i knew that boy once, and now i can look into his eyes and see absolutely nothing that feels familiar. and then sometimes i look at a person and smile and realize some time later that we are foreign to one another.

i don’t know how i got like that. i don’t know if there’s something functioning inside of me like an unpredictable switch, or if this just comes with the territory of learning myself.

he knew me once too. i cannot bear to think that he feels the same cold when he looks at me.

via