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I always say, "I don't know" and the truth is, I don't know if I want to.
There are so many things in my head, it's always difficult to pick one and possibly exclude the others. So many details, so inappropriate, we don't question it here, just take what pleasure can be derived from the collision occurring. There are too many variables, sliding back and forth, too many.
You don't ask. I don't tell. I don't want this to be about me, or what I have done or didn't do. Trust me when I say I have more questions for you than you are willing to answer, and believe me when I say I am too embarrassed to ask them. I would blush, if I can still do that.
The darker parts of me want to tell you all about it, but I like to pretend those parts don't exist. I am becoming well versed in the art of self deception - even here, for fear they will be taken for something else. What I most desperately want is for those dark pieces to be wanted. Truly. Not cast aside as some phased kink.
I want the vocabulary to articulate the depth of my want for words. I want to find your secret stash of words, the ones no one else sees. I want to read them obsessively for hidden meaning, and tuck them into my pocket so I can read them again. Or slip them somewhere dark, where the words do their damage. I want all of your filthiest words, the ones you can only whisper, they are so obscene. Those are the words that would match mine.

7:02 p.m. - 2012-12-26


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