Sweet Heat

You both are funny. Just walking around with that sweet heat. You know when something is peppery and hot and makes you sweat, but it's also delicious? Addictive? And then the fire cools down, down, and it somehow tastes even better in your mouth? Still hot, but less hectic. The flavour deeper. Something that lasts. Has different lives.

There is no virtue in tucking in your hurt. You don’t get a medal for it, my darling. You just get more hurt. And after a while you will have to take accountability for that hurt.

And what's the value of 'safer' anyway, if nothing precious is at stake?

Malakai turns to me as the car slows to a stop, his eyes nebulas, and I can feel them birthing stars in my eyes; he's calling me in to conspiracy. His gaze is dark and bright and carrying every colour, limitless possibilities, and I can see it, he's in this, he's sold, we're here and we're here, and all of a sudden I know that this night is going to be a unit unto itself. Whatever is born here dies here.

…I don't think love is "whatever". I think it's a definitive, persistent thing, that you can feel and touch and bite into, and it colours everything. Everything. You can't fold it away in a convenient place. You can't work around it. You choose it, and you keep choosing it and it becomes part of who you are and that's a good thing because, if it's right, it's built from who you are anyway - parts of your spirit and parts of the other person's spirit coming together to make this little world for you both. It helps to power you, navigating the world around you.

Sometimes insecurities dictate our feelings – we project thoughts onto other people and let them trap us – but a good song stirs emotion with knowledge.

And I wanted him to press into me harder, like maybe if he did he would leave me indents of his body, of his love, that I could trace when I missed him, which would be always.

It lands in me and wreaks havoc on my reasoning.

Our love was many things, but flimsy wasn't one of them. We were stubborn in our own ways, we bickered, he clammed up and I lashed out, but the material of which our bond was made wouldn't allow us to drift. It needed a severance, a brutal tectonic cleaving. Our love was obtrusive and decadent. It coated us, soaked us and maybe that issue. It overwhelmed us, bent our bones till we broke.

Like, I know they say you can have loads of people be your soulmates or whatever, and maybe that's true, but, the thing is, what's the point of that when you meet one person and you can't even imagine another person being right for you? You being right for another person?

Love each other enough to do the work.