As Truthful as a Dream Can Be

The air sometimes seem heavy as if it's filled with something more, something hard to breathe, hard to swallow. It seems to contain mists and clouds of something more alive, something that tries to creep into you through your mouth and nose. Through your pores. Trying to take you over. Fill you up.

Spaces are sometimes filled with sounds or feelings making more sense than others because they have simply chosen the right time to appear. The air greeted him as he appeared and so would I. I would not fight what I had, for so long it seemed like forever, tried to grieve. For a loss will always be a loss, even if you never really had it to begin with.

There was warm air as he breathed and filled my mouth with warmth from inside of him. Taking it into me, taking what was left to use and what he had left for me, it made my chest hurt with strain as if it was fighting for air. But it was just him, too much of him.

I couldn't close my eyes, release him to the world and let it take over. I wanted him to be within my grasp and for me only as he held me, as his skin touched mine and burned. And then soothed. Pain and then pleasure. Nails and then fingertips, teeth and then lips.

He would undress me like all the others. He would whisper in my ear like they all had. He would let his hands run over my skin like so many had before. But it was new, so new. I had smiled at him that evening, I had laughed at his jokes as we surrounded each other like uneasy souls needing to rest. It had been easy. It had been smooth and filled with a long missed contrast of light and grey. And a darkness that was hidden somewhere within his eyes.

The others had smiled, the others had joked and spoken about all the right things. They had kissed me lightly at the correct time and taken me to bed in a patient, loving manner. Carefully planned and executed as were they all. Except for him, the one, first, hint of a darkness I had wondered about.

His teeth followed his breath along my skin as if hunting for the areas where he would then let them sink in and bring my thoughts into vivid soundless screams. I looked down at him, watched him calculate, lazily dragging, tracing lines and bones to new places. New skin to own. I ache, not from what he is doing but from what he is not.

He thrills me but not quite enough, he hurts me just off that edge, off that cliff. He asks of me no more than I'd be willing to give and takes more than I offered. Stealing breaths from my mouth and sounds from my lips he takes the moment from me and decides where the path should go. A decisive, a firm mind, a grip that would not budge when I winced. An experience that knew where to take me and could tell from my eyes how I'd prefer my journey to be travelled.

I did not cry and yet there were tears as I'd feel him. Teeth echoing what his lips had already promised and skin filling the emptiness that had been so constant that it was almost home. It was a missing piece being fitted into a slot that only it could fill. A word that needed no others to complete the final sentence. A drop, that drop, that caused the glass to break.

Lovingly but without questions or demands he looks at me, watch me as I feel him move, feel skin against skin and breath against breath. It is timeless and yet so close to an ending I can not find bearable. For I know how it ends, how it always ends. My eyes close, my lips part, my breath quickens. Ands so it ends. So it ends.

I find the hands my own, I find no shadow in the darkness, no light in the shade. I find his skin my own, the tongue on my lips, the touch of fingertips. I knew how it would end before the very beginning and yet it stuns me. Terrifies me like no other one had.

I beg silently as my skin begins to cool and my breath start to slow. Only for a truth. No. I beg not for truth, but for a strength for me to accept truth for truth and not pretend to mistake it. An excuse to lose it in the mist of all others. I beg, not for him, I ask not for anyone. I but ask for myself, the real me and all of me. All of me.