I'm moving in slow motion today, through liquid, through thick and not thin. Barely breathing, preferring instead the act of osmosis. Life seeping through my skin, my eyes, into my ears, direct to my brain, feeding it little by little, just enough to keep it alive. Always under the assumption that it wishes to remain alive. Would it prefer to sleep, to dream? Dreams of Frosty The Snowman and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Christmas in August, plundering across the sky. I always get the best sleep in the morning, when I fall back asleep after you leave the room. You return and it's as though I've slept a hundred years in those five minutes. With a soft kiss, I'm awake again, refreshed, finally ready to leave the comfort of your bedroom for the harshness of outside. A bleak day, but I'm not noticing. Too busy revelling in the warmth of your touch, the glow of your eyes. Why be sad when I can think about our next time together, imagine your fingers across the skin of my back again. I'm lost in you already, but you're not supposed to know...
[That's the most I'll probably say about the boy here... if it's really saying anything at all.]
'How come you treat your woman so bad?' - Pulp
