Dear Thisbe

Have you ever been scared to love? I have.

It seems so silly. To be scared to give love when you can literally never go wrong in doing so. All you have to do is give it, freely, willingly, and intentionally. And it will always come back to you, someway somehow. 

There’s a boy. I find myself wanting to love him. To pleasure him. To experience the entirety of him just for the sake of doing so. No hidden motives. To love for love’s sake. To love because I have love. 

And love sometimes feels like this thing trapped in my chest, scratching to get out. Especially when it’s dark and he’s deep inside me and there’s nothing in his eyes but desire and his lips are parted drinking me in. I stare into his lust-filled eyes and it’s then that love scratches the most. Making its way out of my chest and into my throat. Fighting to spill out of my mouth. 

And I fight back with everything I have. Keeping myself from saying those three words. I must never tell him I love him. He must never know. And what is it exactly that I’m afraid of? What am I so terrified will happen if he knows?

I’m going to fuck this up somehow. That’s all I can think when trapped by the rays of his golden smile. I’ll get too needy, too clingy, too possessive, too suffocating. Till he’ll have to run as far away from me as possible, just to catch his breath. Or maybe he’ll wake up one day, the scales fallen from his eyes, and he’ll realize how utterly disgusting I am. And he’ll squirm at my touch and hurl at the thought of a forever with me.

I hope my pretty face will keep him interested long enough. Till I stop needing him. And I’m trying my best not to need him. Not to romanticize this thing that we have. Not to put it on a pedestal. But I need him. I need his beautiful handprints all over my skin, attempting to erase all the hurt that my body has been through. I need him to fill me up, making me whole, as I beg and cry with sweet release. Falling apart and coming back together in his arms. 

I serve myself up in an urn for him and I hope he drinks every single drop. Till there’s nothing left.

Love,

Pyramus.

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