You wept. Who even weeps anymore? I bawl or tear up or cry, once I even blubbered, but you wept. This is exactly analogous to that time you caressed my skin when I thought you would stroke my chin or pet my hair. You’re from another time, another world. You called me dashing, when I’m nothing above handsome, am I? Am I? I don’t want to make love to you, I want blinding sex, I want a good shag, I want to fuck you, but you wrap your legs around me lovingly and I don’t know how to correct you.
More from the archives. Something about the spiderweb of connotations and me learning how to write, and how to love. They’re the same thing probably.
How about adding its companion piece too? :)
Well, I don’t really see them as companion pieces as you suggested, and I feel less happy with that one is all. I’m glad you like it, though.
Haha nice piece, creative, different.
This is a really cool one, illustrates the power of language choice highly effectively while also telling a story.
Thank you, I am glad you like it. :) It’s weird but kind of comforting to see how little my core beliefs about writing have changed since I wrote this.