Let’s have the relationship talk. Let’s be more specific than wondering about someone’s mediocrity.

Let’s talk about her.

The night was intense. It had fallen quickly and we were still standing there, immune to its’ fall. It seems, gentlemen, that the physical condition of a human being can easily be affected by words. More than that, when they said that you should undress the mind and then the body will get undressed on its’ own, they weren’t wrong.

What’s your relationship like?

How do you get in bed?

I was feeling aroused by words that had nothing to do with carnal satisfaction. The psychological analysis I received over a phrase of mine impressed me to the point of desire. Is that what happens to you too? I would really like to know.

I was once asked to write from someone else’s perspective, not mine. Therefore, I am imploring you to think of you as you read. Put yourself into the main role and play your part as I say; get the mask I am asking you to wear.

She needed to stand higher than me and that did not bother me. We talked about non-existent principles, impressions, wrongdoings and last but not least, her leaving if hurting will pursue. That intrigued me to the level of rising even if I was standing lower.

There was a continuous analysis of every phrase or argument we were bringing to the table.

Her eyes were sparkling, contemplating my thoughts, impatiently waiting for me to finish my line.

There was no mediocrity in the air.

My insides were burning in need of corruption.

I reached her lips and grabbed her in my arms filled with dreadful desire. Her body wasn’t enough. I needed more of her. I was inhaling her once again. Once I entered her, her facial expression became softer. Her eyes responded to my desire perfectly and I was craving her even more. More than I could ever imagine.

The relationship talk faded.



”I’m drunk on the idea that my body is  filled with these emotions that flow from me like sunlight waves of deep violet colours, lightened by a smile and sunk in a land of loving feelings”. These words spread among us like desert dust and filled my oxygen with confusion. Such a sweet confusion. I wondered if  fairies got me into deep sleep or if I was living in one of my previous lives. Of course I denied reality. Violet wasn’t rigid nor cold. It was sweet; like those flowers I admired as a child but wasn’t allowed to touch. I have never asked anyone why; I thought there was no accurate answer. And there wasn’t. Nobody should banish a child from feeling the softness of a flower. Sometimes I think of that moment when I see a blossom; but no flower resembles to that lilac tree. I wish I had sinned back then. I wish the flavour wasn’t my only memory. 

The shades of a carmine tone elevated the beats of  my heart. The nerves of my body were twisting like accelerated molecules, fiercely and impatiently. I wanted to touch the blossom of my dreams, the man of my unreal dimension. I was damned and still drunk on that idea; that only his love can dance with the fairies of my soul.