She said to me, with her fingers stretched out between the infinities that lie between us “I wish you would make love to me the way you do to your demons”. So I curled up my knuckles and let out a breath of utter vulnerability and chaos.
My words jumbled up to form sentences that lacked vocabulary and my mind drew pictures for you to understand. So I painted with my nails, on the soft skin of your back, the story of how I ruined you. And with my lashes I latched on to the tip of your body, gasping for your love. I told you that my heart has seen things that my mind doesn’t want to remember. And then, the echo of my hollow lungs sang you a lullaby of how I wish I could feel what I remember instead of remembering what I felt.
Your eyes were wide shut listening to me use my words for the first time. Your eyes were glowing, knowing that I was finally here, with you, trying. And I kept telling you about songs that mean more to me than people, and how letting go is something I have mastered with finesse. Though that scared you, you stretched out your fingers towards me some more, wanting to cradle me.
You said to me, knowing I am broken “I wish you would make love to me the way you do to your demons.”
I whispered “I trust my demons” and I walked away.