You can hear me laugh, neither loud nor hollow. It permeates you. It sounds like icicles breaking off the eaves of a shingled roof. It's not an unusual sound, but you can feel it in the tip of your nose. Like a stale memory or a song you don't quite know all the words to. You find yourself, subconsciously, looking for me.
When you stand next to me, it smells confectionery: baking sweet and herbal. It envelops you. It isn't overwhelming, but you breathe deeper, consuming it. An innate heat radiates from my skin, kissed by jersey and lace. I have a magnetic awareness of you and steadily, the pull brings me closer. When I turn, my hair brushes you, a gossamer disruption of autonomic signals. You see goose-bumps race across the nape of my neck.
When you look in my eyes, you are drowning. It consumes you. The connection is meant for two, just you and me. You are frozen in predation, voluntarily caged in pigmented quicksand. You feel incorporeal, keenly aware of your own reflection. The vacuum of my gaze conflicts with an almost overwhelming synesthesia; we are suspended, poised on the brink of kinetic potential. As a slow smile blooms on my face, it feels like you are standing on the surface of the sun: heated, but blinding. Flares of destructive melting interspersed with addictive warmth.
You have been rendered mute, every syllable unwieldy on the tongue, every train of thought derailed. It possesses you. Disjointed patterns accumulate behind your breath, uncomposed whispers press against your teeth. There are a thousand things worth saying in this moment, and yet it is the anticipation of silence that enthralls you.
Time is waiting: sanguine lips part for an arrested beat. It encompasses you. Even movement has abandoned you, leaving your chrysalis intact. It is the eclipse of the sun, the cessation fo the rain, and the melting of the icicles whose manifestation you crave as much as you fear. The moment stretches, a tide of insticts, taffy malleable and just as sweet.
"Hi."
When you stand next to me, it smells confectionery: baking sweet and herbal. It envelops you. It isn't overwhelming, but you breathe deeper, consuming it. An innate heat radiates from my skin, kissed by jersey and lace. I have a magnetic awareness of you and steadily, the pull brings me closer. When I turn, my hair brushes you, a gossamer disruption of autonomic signals. You see goose-bumps race across the nape of my neck.
When you look in my eyes, you are drowning. It consumes you. The connection is meant for two, just you and me. You are frozen in predation, voluntarily caged in pigmented quicksand. You feel incorporeal, keenly aware of your own reflection. The vacuum of my gaze conflicts with an almost overwhelming synesthesia; we are suspended, poised on the brink of kinetic potential. As a slow smile blooms on my face, it feels like you are standing on the surface of the sun: heated, but blinding. Flares of destructive melting interspersed with addictive warmth.
You have been rendered mute, every syllable unwieldy on the tongue, every train of thought derailed. It possesses you. Disjointed patterns accumulate behind your breath, uncomposed whispers press against your teeth. There are a thousand things worth saying in this moment, and yet it is the anticipation of silence that enthralls you.
Time is waiting: sanguine lips part for an arrested beat. It encompasses you. Even movement has abandoned you, leaving your chrysalis intact. It is the eclipse of the sun, the cessation fo the rain, and the melting of the icicles whose manifestation you crave as much as you fear. The moment stretches, a tide of insticts, taffy malleable and just as sweet.
"Hi."
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