love is a disease by leAlmighty via DeviantArt.com
It’s an infection no one could understand. She was healthy, capable, and seemingly untouched by illness until one day, she simply couldn’t stand. Her heart seemed to collapse in on itself, and her lungs would not fill completely. She was more sad and lost than she’d ever been before, and her body was deteriorating at an alarming rate.
She sought out specialists and tests, scanning every inch of her body for whatever terrible thing was slowly killing her. Was it a cancer? A parasite? Some sort of virus or infection?
After a while, it seemed she was getting better. Her spirits began to lift with all the attention and affection from her family and friends, and she almost seemed intoxicated with love and joy.
Oddly, those around her seemed affected by her joy, as though it were contagious. When she smiled at others, they could not control their own emotions and would immediately smile back. When she laughed, everyone around her laughed. It was subtle at first, but when nurses, doctors and other patients began flocking to her room to visit the sweet girl… She knew something was definitely going on.
Her fear grew with each new “friend”, and as it did, the feelings in those around her changed as well. Her emotions bloomed in others. Her confusion and fright was mirrored or mimicked in every single person who came near. She realized she had to stay happy, stay pleasant, until she might get some reprieve when she was alone that night. She whispered to her husband to kiss her and tickle her, make her feel loved and cherished so that she might slather those feelings on everyone around her.
It worked for a while, but eventually her ever present tinge of concern crept in. He could not comply with her needs, succumbing to the negative emotions she was emitting, so she told everyone to leave and packed her things. She formulated a plan of escape, and ran away. Isolation seemed the only answer, because she could not bear to be responsible for anyone elses sadness, fear, anger or confusion.
She ran to the ocean, pleading with God to fix her, change her back, remove this sweet disease he’d somehow bestowed upon her. But every time she tested it, it was the same. She could not allow herself to feel anything but happiness around others.
Eventually, she became very skilled at forcing herself to be light and upbeat, and was able to return to her world. Her loved poured over all of those around her. Everyone forgave her absence as quickly as she returned. And for a while, she believed she could possibly live a normal life like that. Coerced joy, however, is very different than the real thing.
At times, negative forces would pull her thoughts and feelings wayward. But she persisted. She would never feed those emotions, and would always, eventually turn things around. Some believed her to be magical. Others thought she was just a gift from God. And a few grew to fear her, as the array of human emotions is not meant to be tampered with.
In the presence of those people, she could not control herself very well, once again causing a negative spiral that wrapped her tightly in an emotive war. An empathetic battle of will. And it broke her.
Her thoughts of self harm radiated from her, but these thoughts did not mimic themselves like her other negative emotions. These thoughts corroded the way her friends and family viewed her. Her self hatred made them hate her, and her suicidal wonderings became murderous intentions in her husband.
She knew she must run away again, but the negativity had breached her health, once again, and she found herself too sick to leave. And too fearful to change her thoughts, emit better feelings, trick herself into being happy.
When he came to her one night, her tears and sadness mirrored in his own eyes, she told him to kill her. She begged him to be done with her. But this only backfired, because she was pleading out of love. His response was to simply love her in return.
In his love, she found peace and devoted herself to loving. As long as she could love, she would free herself from the darkness that would try to drown her and end her.
And so she loved the world.
She looked for it in every sunrise and sunset, she sought after it in every face she saw and hand she shook, she poured it into everything she did and said. And held her other feelings tightly, only letting them spill free when alone with her words.
She found solace in her words and then in the words of others. She found a place where she could paint her world with words, and share them without the pain and suffering of her empathetic gift. It became her sanctuary. An escape from her hiding. Filled with people who understood her, and some who were infected as well. There was still pain to be felt and dealt, but it was just another lesson to learn.
She still suffers from that sweet disease today. She finds ways to live with it, new ways to love every minute. Eventually, she will surely succomb to it. But for now, she’s just that sweet girl who loves everyone and everything in the Universe.
Don’t cry, little girl. by laura-makabresku via DeviantArt.com
I stand, staring at you.
Punishing you with my eyes.
But I cannot look directly at you, not for long.
My fingers betray me, reaching out to you. To rake softly through that lovely beard. To skim tenderly over those sweet lips. To magnetize you, so desperate to wake the beast within.
So he might fight with me.
So he might frighten me.
So he might fuck me.
You stand motionless. Frozen. Like a dream.
My mind and heart, they’re arguing. Fighting the facts, and memorizing the ache that bears your name. That hurt fuels my magic and beckons me to look up. Look again. Look at you.
I swim in the crystal depth of those pale, sad eyes.
My mind quiets,
My heart stops,
My body lightens…
And I feel
Your hands in my hair.
Where they are meant to be.
Your breath on my skin.
Where it is meant to be.
Your lips on my forehead.
Where they are meant to be.
With your arms wrapped around me,
Can you feel how you’re holding me together?
Far from a simple embrace,
You are stitching me and mending me
With your love.
With each squeeze,
You pick up the pieces that have fallen.
With each kiss on my neck,
You work the puzzle into place.
With each breath at my ear,
You seek out the missing parts.
And with every whispered word,
You glue me back together,
You fill the tiny gaps,
You sand me and smooth me,
To perfection.
Will you keep holding me,
And help me when the cracks
Reappear?
Will you be strong enough,
To hold on for both of us
Without fear?
Will you use your love,
To balance my will and your pace
Through my tears?
Please
Hold onto me
Into eternity.
As long as you are holding me,
I know that I won’t ever
Fall apart.
And as you keep me together,
I promise…
I’ll be holding you, too.
As I step against the brick wall that you crafted so artfully to hold me away from the blistering heat and acid that churns inside your soul, I feel the warmth of it and can’t help but want to be inside of it.
I long to be in there with you. I could help you douse the fires. I could be the base to neutralize that rage. I could be the light amidst your darkness.
But you are a sophisticated mason, and this wall you put up is sturdy and strong. Like you. Like everything you do.
So I’m left in the cold, to wonder about what you are feeling, thinking, hoping…
Are your emotions as shallow as they appear? Or is there depth behind that wall?
Perhaps you believe I am too delicate to endure the real you, locked tightly inside your fortress.
Perhaps you believe I am too delicate to enjoy the ministrations of your deepest longings.
Perhaps you believe I am too delicate to understand the intricate network of your mind.
Perhaps you even believe I am too delicate to appreciate your simplicity, if that is in fact what you hide so capably.
But, sweet Sir, I am not delicate.
I am Strong. Stronger than you could ever imagine. Stronger, even, than you and this wall you built to protect me.
I will rip it down with my bare hands, I will prove that I am worthy of the knowledge hidden behind it.
I will make you hear me, through this brickwork, or destroy my voice in the process.
I will force you to see that my love for you transcends everything physical.
I will be your NEW wall, and protect YOU from all that you fear and avoid.
I am not too delicate. But once we are both behind that wall…
I could pretend to be!
I could let you protect me…
I could help you build a new, beautiful fortress. Our delicate new world.
He stands behind her, reaching out to drag long, daring fingers through her silky tresses. Down the velvet arch of her back then up again, into her locks, tugging her sharply against him.
“Five,” he growls against her ear, before pressing her forward, bent over the mattress, molding her to his will.
His belt is folded and she hears the wicked snap of him pulling it tight in his grasp. His fingers glide over the soft, round curve of her bottom before he steps back to his task.
The first strike lands and the heat is immediate and intense. A sensation she’d dreamed of, a pain she’d longed for, and despite the whimper which escapes her throat, she instantly wants more.
The second blow is lower and even harder than the first, but the groan which bubbles from her chest is filled with the depth of her desire, not to quit, but to endure all that he might offer.
The discomfort of the third causes her to cry out, softly. He wonders at her desire for this pain, and what it does to her. A question that would have to be answered, eventually. She would have to make him understand.
The fourth stings and sends jolts through her core. How could she ever explain? The little girl in her has no words to describe her need for this. And the masochist within is mute from a lifetime of hiding.
The final hit is fast, biting her skin with enough intensity to leave a mark, and she exhales in pants, wishing for more but knowing that it would be too much.
His hands smooth over her hot flesh before guiding her to stand and back into him. He strokes her hair and nuzzles her neck as she catches her breath.
When he turns her in his arms and kisses her deeply, she feels his arousal against her belly and loses herself in him.
As his kiss turns wild and animalistic, it is all she can do to remain upright, her knees threaten to fail, her mind threatens to part.
His fingers search and explore her body expertly. He knows each and every tiny place that is secretly and amazingly linked to her core. And tortures her in the most delicious, teasing game, before they find their home deep within her.
“Please…,” she whimpers as he pulls his lips from hers.
He slips his fingers from her and traces her lips with her own liquid lust. “You got what you wanted, what are you begging for?”
She looks deep in his pale eyes and is frozen within his gaze. She did get what she wanted…
She’d begged and pleaded for that which she believed she needed. She’d forced her thoughts on him, she’d pushed him to conform to her needs.
Sinking to her knees before him, she gazes up at him. “Please, accept my submission.
“Use me, as I have used you. To fulfill your deepest desires. To satiate whatever craving lies buried beyond your limits. To satisfy the beast you keep hidden so extraordinarily well that most don’t even recognize he’s there.”
His eyes are unreadable, his expression giving no insight into his thoughts. Only after staring at her for far too long does he sit on the bed and pull her up into his lap.
Wrapping himself around her and burying his face in her hair, he sighs. “Let go. Submit to my love, wife. I need you like I need air. But I could never do this to you without you asking me for it explicitly. I will play the part, at your direction, but I will not… cannot… bend you to my will. Let go of the picture of who you want me to be and accept me for who I am. Submit to my love, not to my will.”
His refusal hangs in the air. But she clings to him and he to her. The heat he’d burned into her cheeks is fading, and her heart races against his as she absorbs the desperation of his grip.
She tries to pull away, but he doesn’t let her. And as she replays his words in her mind, over and over, she does let go.
She allows those five blows to clean the slate. To wipe away all of her expectations. To create a new plan and path.
One which she will forge and guide them on… quietly… by a leash around her throat.
She will submit. To his love.
And to his ever-present desire for her to lead.
She takes his hand, pushing it across her body then up to wrap his fingers around her neck.
Soft and faded from years of being beaten in the dryer, with holes around the arms and frayed edges, it is only ever worn during chores or dirty jobs.
It smells like him, this old blue t-shirt, even freshly laundered. Even if I’ve worn it the last dozen times. I hope it smells like him forever.
He looks at me sideways when I put it on. It’s His shirt. I just smirk because he never makes me to take it off.
I know he loves it. Maybe that is why I do, as well. It makes me feel close to him. It makes me feel like part of him. It makes me feel like His.
I’ve stopped wearing it but have it in my closet. I don’t know how much longer it has. It’s tattered and over worn. But it is perfect, and I don’t want it to disappear.
He asks about it, so I pull it out, not wanting to be deceitful, only wanting it to remain in tact.
He gazes at me with his pale, sad eyes, perplexed. I can’t explain it, it will sound morbid…
But he wants me to.
“It’s your favorite shirt. It has memories of you in every stitch. But it’s almost gone. And when you’re gone, I’ll need it… I don’t want it to disintegrate… before…”
He stares at me, steps close to me and reaches down for the hem of my short nightie, lifting it over my head. When he slides the old shirt down over my hair, I automatically pull my arms through the sleeves, gazing at him in wonder.
He takes my hand, then, pushing me towards the mirror, he wraps his arms around me from behind.
“You keep the shirt, sweet girl. When I’m gone, you will have it, but you won’t need it.”
He places his hand across my heart, over the super thin fabric that hangs from my breasts, unflatteringly. He whispers, low and sweet in my ear. “I’ll forever be inside here.”
He turns me to face him and grasps my head between his hands. “I’m in here too, in the deepest crevices of your mind. Our souls are mixed. Together or apart, we are linked. My absence will only, ever, be temporary. Because I could never stay away from you for long… You are precious to me, sweet one. Even death won’t keep me from you.”
He steps back, tugging the old rag off of me, then pulls me into his arms. His fingers tangle in my hair as he tips his forehead to mine. I stroke his lovely beard and breath him in, soaking his presence into every pore, and waiting for the kiss that makes us one.
His kiss doesn’t come, though, because he’s already gone. Memories of him haunt my dreams. My love for him haunts me, overflows my heart, and guides my life.
I feel the shredded edge of his shirt, too worn to even wear anymore. And I smile, because I know he was right, and we won’t be apart for long.
Well meet again tonight, in my dreams. And soon enough, in eternity…
—
I saw this photo and article weeks ago, and had a dream that inspired me to write this. It is fiction.
I’m not one to wear my husband’s shirts or old tattered clothes, because I love pretty things and prefer to wear flattering things.
But I long for this kind of closeness. I long to feel this attached. I think most women do.
When you lean in to kiss the skin of my breast, peaking above my neckline, you need no excuse at all.
When your hands explore me, even when time and place is inappropriate, you need not offer a defense.
When you press against me in the kitchen, and tease me with those delicious lips, you need not explain yourself.
When you lie in bed, feeling that which you cannot explain, and simply want me to climb on top of you to make you forget, you do not need a reason.
You never need a reason.
Whenever you want me, I am yours. Kiss me, spank me, rub me, hold me…
Whenever you need me, I will do anything to please you. I will kiss you, stroke you, lick you, suck you…
Whenever… Wherever… I am your plaything, your softness, your heat, your safe haven. Tell me what to do, and how.