Gil♥da

~ ♥ ~
"Because we are the same person. I am the reason, you are the why."
-- W.Diggs/G.Rodgers --

"I'll make the most of all the sadness-
You'll be a bitch because you can.
You'll try to hit me just to hurt me so you can leave me feeling dirty cause you can't understand."
John Mayer

"If you think the only kind of relationship that can exist between a man and a woman is one of love, you must be sexually frustrated."

*~*~* ... she found that there was never a moment when she was free of regret. She felt it keenly, as if there was something sharp wedged between her ribs as she breathed. At most times, it was a dull ache in her chest, like an old wound that refused to heal completely. But at certain moments, the pain flared up again as if someone was violently twisting the splinters of her dreams deeper into the torn muscles of her heart ... *~*~*
"Personally, I prefer gifts too big to wrap: the inflammatory abstracts, say - love, forgiveness, faith - that sear through any paper so packaging them's like tucking flames into tuxedos."
---
I'm trying my best to erase your memory, but somehow, without my permission, you grafted yourself to me. I smile your laughter, cry your lies, kiss your sighs, and all the other annoying small things. I wonder, if I'll ever break away from this... disease you've tainted me with. Whether I'll ever want to. I can call it every dirty word I know but it wont change how I feel...
---
"I get that feeling sometimes. Like I'm a combination of light and magic, a trick being played on the world. A sorcery so twisted it forgot how it came to be. What would you do if I faded to nothing in front of you? Would you understand if I asked you to help me break the spell?"
*~*~* It's easy. It's a sure thing. That the warmth and abiding plenitude of this morning would permit me to call your pain a fugue, an intricately feathered spiral, because it sounds lovely. And lovely implies consolation and accuracy. But all the while, buried inside, hurt still hurt, shame still shame. *~*~*
... she swallowed a cough as she felt the jagged edge of regret turn and rip something in her ribcage. It hurt, she acknowledged, it hurt a lot. She turned her chin slightly to look at the man who was and wasn’t the one she loved ...

---"I started liking her because she could tell me so easily that she likes me ... when I couldn't even like myself. And then when she said she would say it as many times as I liked ... I got greedy and told her to say it for as long as I live.
I like you. With that single phrase, the color of the world changed ... to something so vivid ... so dramatic ... so loving that it almost hurts ..." ---
There are times when I cry suddenly, like turning on the lights, without caring what's around me, and times when I can't do anything but cry. Afterwards, I like to happily eat rice.
*~*
“You're always beautiful, but I like the expression. It's poised, and calm, with the sorrow of a lifetime bottled up inside your eyes. It's not any kind of morbid dread or depression, but the hint of it that made me love you.”
*~*

Love is matched by insecurity. For the number of days you're in love, there's an equal number of days you're insecure.
-- "The most worrisome thing was that she had no fear. It had done her no good, as a child to be scared; she got beaten, anyway. And the capacity to be afraid is one of the main ingredients to being empathetic. You have to be able to let yourself suffer, in order to imagine the pain of others."

~~ "Because he was a narcissist."
That was no compliment, but she didn't sound bitter. She sounded like she was stating a fact - her husband was in love with himself.
"He didn't care about other people?"
"Only so much as they confirmed what he wanted to believe about himself and the world around him. He used people like mirrors, to reflect his own self-image." ~~

If you didn't match her vision of reality, she simply didn't treat you as though you were real. She had the ability to pretend a person had disappeared off the face of the earth.

"You always speak with conviction, which thankfully belies the fact you may not actually be convinced."

“He's a small gray mark on your rap sheet, whether the mark will ever be a segment is up to chance.”

Bind my ankles with your white cotton rope so I cannot walk. Bind my wrists so I cannot push you away. Place me on the bed and wrap your rope tighter around my skin so it grips my flesh. Now I know that struggle is useless, that I must lie here and submit to your mouth and tongue and teeth, your hands and words and whims. I exist as your object. Exposed.

“I may hurt you, but I will not harm: I will not hit too hard, take you further than you want to go or give you an inflection.”