I love you how the ant loves the boot
rating: +10+x

Your hand burns in mine.

Subtly squeezing and loosening with your relaxed breaths.

You’re soft and pliant beside me.

Hair ghosting over my neck.

Cheek resting on my shoulder.

I shift with your every twitch.

I try not to poke my bony shoulders too far into your soft form.

I can feel your heart beat through your hands.

The subtle rise and fall of your flesh raises goosebumps in my own.

The hot rush of your breath triggers the shaky release of my own.

I don’t know if I want this.

I was not made for this.

I was not made for soft kisses or warm embraces.

Not for candlelight dinners and dancing.

Not to gaze into your eyes and confess my undying love.

Not to stand beside you.

Not to make you happy.

There is already so much inside me.

Inside you.

Such violent storms, so many diverging streams, so deep and vast.

I cannot find you in any of them.

I don’t search for you anyways.

Is it wrong?

Is it wrong how I sometimes wish it was simple lust in your eyes?

I would endure your hands clumsily groping me a thousand times just for the slim chance that you’d hate it.

Hate me.

Is it wrong to feel dirty when you say you love me?

Is it wrong to cringe at your sincerity?

I feel like a liar.

You snore softly beside me.

A better lover would find it endearing.

I search my heart, my mind, to find it within me.

I can’t.

I don’t love you.

I’m not sure that I can.

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