You
I keep thinking about you today.
Your smile. The way you called my name. The glimmer in your eyes for me. Your accusations. The way you blamed me for existing, perhaps. Because you’d smile, that half smile, like you can’t believe you’re grinning. Like you can’t believe that you want to grin from being delighted by me. Delighted, amused, aroused by me.
Because you couldn’t help yourself around me. I couldn’t help myself around you too. You couldn’t deny the appeal. The existence of desire between us. That if I asked you something, even though you’d probably never … entertain the idea. You would for me.
And the cycle would repeat. You’d blame me, again. “All because of you.” Of course, I didn’t believe you. Or didn’t want to believe. But no, you’d continue. “You did this.”
This. The hesitation on both our parts. Because a higher authority stood between us, telling us that this was not right. Telling us that we knew better. Is that conflict? Is that what I did wrong…this.
That I went for it relentlessly. Wanting you. That I needed you. That I liked you first. But only after you admitted to thinking I could be attractive. That is, before we knew more about the beings that represent our existence on this earth.
But I liked you. You. Everything about you. Everything I knew and everything I didn’t know. And I needed you. But I wasn’t going to tell you. It should have probably stayed that way. It should have stayed hidden, my desire for you. But, you. You consumed me. When you bit your lips, I wanted to be the reason you bit your lips. I wanted to be the one that nibbled on your lips. Because when we weren’t together it was my hands on my body burning at every sensation imagining you. Imagining your lips on my lips. Your eyes filled with passion for me. Your moans covering the delicate quiet air in between us.
So you know. I confessed. Yeah, I confessed how much I liked you. And that you could, that we could, do that…be consumed in sensation over each other. That we could enjoy ourselves with each other. Our bodies lost to the excitement. Losing our clothes. Losing ourselves. Bringing ourselves to the edge every time.
Shaking because we can’t feel anything but each other. Knowing we’d be better off keeping our hands to ourselves. But that ripple, like a fire crackling over itself burning into nothingness.
I love you. But maybe not, you, the you that you want to be. The you that leaves me when morning comes. When we lie to each other that we can be platonic and subside our erotic selves. The part of us that goes around in circles saying things like “I do have to admit that I looked for you for purely carnal purposes.”
That which holds us apart. I hate that with all my heart.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/lry9rs/a_confession_f