| Current mood: |  blah |
| Current music: | Marilyn Manson--> Tainted Love |
Not finished. Actually, it probably never will be. But by demand of Mr. Christopher Turco, here ya go.
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Calloused hands travel the soft porcelain terrain of your face as though they've never felt skin before. His thumb brushes across your lips, which until this life-bearing moment have been dormant and cold. Any anger or fear that ever once coursed through your veins has been purged by his touch, more gentle and precautious than any you've ever felt--as if he fears he may break you.
The solitary flame of a candle, left glowing for hours now in the window sill, illuminates hundreds of tiny rain drops spattered against the glass. Each one of them an ocean in themselves, yearning to flow through the glass into the bedroom, desperate to feel true warmth again. You smile as he adoringly slips his hand around the back of your neck, lifting your head up to meet his. Your mind is racing, heart pounding. And in the midst of attempting to disentangle the countless emotions you're experiencing in this one moment, you think that he is going to kiss you. Holding your breath, your heartbeat speeds up faster still. You can sense it in his breath--nervousness, excitement, fear. You spot your own reflection in his marble-blue eyes as he draws you closer....
...and does nothing. You slowly exhale and let your eyes flutter closed as the hand at the back of your neck starts to innocently stroke your hair. Your entire body relaxes and settles into a faint grey medium between sleep and conciousness.
You've suddenly become so tired, the feeling washing over your body like water overflowing over the brim of a bath tub, and never before did you realize how cold and lifeless his skin felt next to yours....
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