we hype and we type.

love is the half chewed apple in his mouth while his hands were kept busy preparing a meal when you were sick.

She squirmed lower, not wanting to be on eye level with him. His broad chest was compacted by lying on his side. She found herself a crevice between those muscles and nudged her head in. She felt small there. His arm moved in to wrap her waist for that heightened sense of protection. She loved just how small he made her feel.

An unforeseen possessiveness swept over him. He cradled her to say “There are moments when I want you to belong only to me, that includes no phone calls and messages for you. And this is one of those moments.” She felt overpowered by his unwelcome gesture but she didn’t choose to fight it. No, she didn’t want to.

Each passing moment, she thought about him. It ached. Till it ached no more.

i wish someone could take a picture of us now, laying down side by side with our heads turned towards each other. it was dreamy. an outstretched hand pushed my face closer to yours and with lips barely touching were the words, “fairy tales, they don’t happen.”

– while people scoff at my disdain in fairy tales, i can only remember the man who took them away from me.

it’s a surreal feeling realizing the coming of age with what used to be your favorite band growing up.
rewind 13 years, i liked their music because they were angsty. now, Young Modern is a reflection of Silverchair’s calmer and more sophisticated self.
following a hair cut, use of eyeliner and divorce from natalie imbruglia, i’ve found myself back again as a fan and a greater one at that.

note: erotic content

throughout the ages, she has somehow retained that innocence towards him, tainted only by her acceptance of his waywardness.
if love could make anyone a downright fool, he will be the smartest of them all.
his heart beats wildly in a soft spot that is reserved solely for her, yet having no intention to eradicate a life overrun by acts of his carnal and sometimes, perverse desire.
akin to holding a godlike-status, the worship from men and women alike was for his taking.
he has no knowledge of love like that of hers and a constantly conflicting mind gnaws at never being able to love her as much but yet without her, he stands to lose his only remnant of innocence and that he will be nothing else.
she has no qualms demanding loyalty from him but her love remains the same even when he doesn’t give.
everyone loves differently, he said.
while painfully aware of her love unmatched by no other, he knows only to show his comprehension and perhaps, appreciation through their lovemaking of tsunamis ridden with such orgasms, that send her crashing to utter senselessness.
in her screams, she has always craved for his heart, for even a slightest change that forebodes the demise of his obstinacy.
breathless and worn out from the intercourse, her being takes in a gush of cold air to feel emptiness once more.
she cradles her face in the warmth of her tears and when her senses seep through to tell her she has no one else to blame but herself, she buries in ungovernable sorrow till her body succumbs instead to some much-needed sleep.
loving someone like him speaks perverseness on her part.
her only argument to innocence is that she follows her heart that has been given on its entirety.
while he lays claim to her whole heart, she stands only to receive the portion he wants her to have.
until the day she garners enough love for herself and until the day he loves her enough to stop patronizing, ‘perverted will always give as perverted seeks and perverted will take as perverted gives’: this notion that stems from love of such magnitude will forever choose to haunt those that love them the most.

writer’s note: even though i said no word, it speaks no less than how much i want this to end and for you to finally be free.