Month: October 2007

I want you to struggle. 

When I have you pinned to the wall, your wrists held tightly in my grip and over your head, I want you to try and break free. You will twist your wrists, arch your back, and I will feed on your anger and your fear.

Because the more you resist, the greater my need is to possess you.

I will leave bruises on your wrists as a reminder. You will find yourself unconsciously touching them as you go through your day and you will remember how it felt to be completely at my mercy; it wasn't the way I held you still, the way my hands wrapped in kind cruelty around your limbs and throat, or the comfort I offered in the vicious bites left on the vulnerable curves of your breasts.

No. It was the way I watched you, the way I knew you would only offer yourself up after I had stripped you of all other alternatives. 

I wrote you letters.

They were sturdy and delicate, drawn out in long-form, drafted in my mind and recited over and over and again until the cadence of each word synchronized into a pulse louder than the ones running through my veins.

I would repeat them to myself, marvel at how well the characters of my thoughts wore the garments of my imagination, and then cast them out to populate the blank page before me.

I wrote you letters.

They were intimate portraits of my state of mind, a view through the looking glass; did you see much of yourself in me? Did you think my words might be your own but for the distance of our years? 

I wrote you letters.

They were an invitation into the brothel of my soul. Here, everything has a price and I sold each word to you for a cost too little to be noticed.

Until it was too late. 

I wrote you letters. 

Will you write me in return?