The door un-clocks, I hear your footsteps getting closer, climbing their way to my soul. My heart beats louder after smelling your presence. I lie still. In this silence there’s no room for errors. Your being smells like despair. Like hopelessness, like boredom, like childish grief.
I pretend not to feel your hands on my back. Turned away I don’t need to confront my reality, this reality. The reality of me being trapped with you, but not wanting out. You slide your hands over my body, trying to find a way to enter me. I lie in quiet horror. Again or still.
Your touch becomes rougher, with a need to destroy my fragility. A little moan escapes me as a warning sign to not go any further. You interpret my moan like your moan. But my moan is nothing like your moan. You moan is based on desires and lust, on jealousy and neediness. Then in a moment of carelessness you toss me on my back and I fall again. I fall again completely in love with your unlovable being.