anna
She was polished in the kind of way that made him want to unsteady her; to make her totter in those sensible heels; to take her hard and fast against the wall; to muss her sleek hair; to take his teeth and tear her crisp button-up all the way down.
We make architecture with our twining fingertips - here is the church here is the steeple, here are our shimmering glimmering smashing hearts, like glass snowglobes shattering against the door, glass and sparks flying like a spray of bright coins. Here is my heart. Here are your lips. Here my mouth touches your cheeks and here promises spin out into the sunlight, weightless, weighted, like paper swans dying to swoop and swoon and soar.
It started as a prickling at the base of her neck; a clenching of her fingertips; a small crease, like a furrow in the earth, dug between her two finely arched brows. She worried her lower lip with her teeth like she worried her own anxiety in her mind.
I want to explore your skin - the corners of your elbows, the ridges of your hips, the full curve of your lips. I want to taste you. To sink into your skin. I want you to caress my generous curves and careen into my questioning mind. I wonder about you. I ache to know your secrets.
They say curiosity killed the cat. But I say satisfaction brought him back.
I want to know every hill and valley of your face. I want to run my hands through your riotous curls and kiss every inch of your porcelain skin. I want to laugh by your side, weep on your shoulder, make love to you so sweetly that we ache when we pull apart. I want every bit of you.
I'm caught. Hopelessly.
My fingers reach. Society pulls me back. My lips part. Society snaps them shut.
I want you.
"All I ever wanted," she said brokenly, tears spilling like rain down her cheeks, "was to bring some sunshine into your life."
He sighed. "But you're not sunshine. You've got too much sadness. Too much wildness. Too much pain."
Sunshine, she mused idly, felt like kisses - a slow warm flush against her cheeks, her lips, the place where her nose curved into her forehead, the arch of her jaw into neck.
Sunshine, she mused idly, liked to kiss her as much as he did.
She was always the one left behind, wasn't she? Left wandering lonely down the hallway with bright laughter silvering the air in front and a bleak wave sweeping over her from behind.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" the teachers asked at school.
"Not left behind," she replied.
All she wanted to do was hurl herself down, farther, cutting cleanly through the crisp water, all skin over muscle over bone. She wanted to feel the flex and flow of tendons straining. She wanted to swim until she couldn't and then let the current drag her farther still. She wanted to fight that current and then let herself lie limp. She wanted to never return to the place she left.
She took a breath.
And then she dove.
The current carried her away.
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writing since 2009 · 54 entries · 42 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Anna showed up.
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42days written
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the words Anna reaches for
skinagainstlipshearteyeslovemouthnecksunshinehandsbehindrollercoasterhardcheeksface