AmaTae

The calloused thumb caressed a delicately soft ankle, he withdrew the hand slowly as though he disturbed her. She was asleep, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. He was hyper aware, however, lost in his thoughts and yet knowing everything around him intimately. His hands were rough, used, worn and scarred. The knuckles were large and popped when they flexed outward. His dark eyes looked from his tanned ruddy skin to her porcelain white ankle unmarred. They were far too different. Two different worlds that collided in a rush of wind and tangled limbs. A knock and she stirred before slipping back into slumber. The man motioned for the new

The life I’m living is not mine. You must understand, the me sitting here at this computer is not me. I looked into the mirror this morning, dabbing on my eye shadow and smearing on eyeliner only to not recognize myself. I awoke and for the  first time in nearly ten years, I realized that someone had stolen my body and my future. There are interviews of people where they say, as a child it was never a question in what they would do, it was just assumed. Be it an actor, an artist, a manager, a ceo - from an early age it was clear, life would go one way for them. It was such for me and writing. It was always understood: I would write. W

I like your voice. I don't think I've ever told you, but I like your voice. I've never heard it, But I like it. I imagine it to be of false bravado  and a little tenderness. It'd make me shiver And force a giggle. I think maybe it'd have a tingle of happiness mixed with longing. It might even have A ring of regret. Maybe it would swirl around me like a warm summers breeze. It would tangle and ensnare me. Sometimes, I think it'd feel like tiny little sparks of sun on my skin. Warming me, Burning me. And I like that, because it's yours and maybe you'll like mine too.