"deeply i go down into myself. my god is dark and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence." -rainer maria rilke


it's time.

i've finally been able to achieve orgasms for the first time since splitting up with the devil.  i've had two.  the first, in the very early hours of morning...when the light was shining through my bedroom window the way it was that first time he and i woke up in my bed together.  it inspired a hate fuck fantasy.

honestly, i almost want to fuck him again just to make it real.  i'd like to fuck him till he cries and then never speak to him again.  i've never uttered the words "i fucking hate you" while cumming, but i have now.  and for some reason, it was hot.

this morning, it was my first time fantasizing about fucking someone new.  it's still going to be a long time before i'm ready to sleep with someone...but i'm ready to entertain myself now.

i imagined us fucking in a tent.  in the woods.  gently and gradually growing rough.  and the waves of orgasms hit me hard.

this is good.

i'm ready to move on now.

give me a man who can climb trees with me and cook dinner over an open fire while we have deep conversations about pranayama and meditating and personal growth.

give me a man to grow with.

i really never want to eat again.

"If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die."


conversations in dreams

a week and a half has passed since the devil and i called it quits. i am dreaming about him every night. heavily. i can't escape him. we find each other, and a conversation begins. the conversation is pleasant. we're making amends. i'm forgiving him. he's understanding me. he's hearing me. we're touching. and everything is calm.

last night we agreed to just see each other sometimes, and not say anything. just sometimes, come back together and lay side by side in silence.

i cry when i think to myself how sad it is that his soul is so different from how he acts. a pang stabs at my heart when i quietly wonder why.

but i know the reason.

it's the drugs.

nothing causes a dichotomy between a man and his soul quite like opiates.
"in the slaughterhouse of love, they kill only the best, none of the weak or deformed. don't run away from this dying. whoever's not killed for love is dead meat." - rumi