I was fucking my therapist… [ Yeah I know I am entitled to compensation]…
She sent me this note…
“Whenever my mind wanders and "I get all flushed with fever"... I think of you. Your nerdy-ass smile. The hat tilted sideways, '90s style, and your beard... and your smile. Yes, your smile is everything.
Then it's the ease where your hands barely touch the steering wheel, but your eyes are on me. It's your egoistic banter... you study me... you force me to confess I lingered at the coffee shop... read all my pages... sipped the final chai, and the only thing missing from Sunday was you... consuming me on the edge of your bed, to the backdrop of Naruto Uzumaki and his friends watching.
It's the giant Pikachu, the glimmering fishes... illuminated by the lights you bought and installed with your hands... hands that have touched every cell on my skin. The aquariums excite my wonder... I can be fully distracted, yet focused because your curiosities are mine. Your safe space is mine. I felt at home, even if your cricket-fattened bearded lizard was shy.
It's you picking me up from the couch. It's you taking off your shirt. Giggling. It's the garden of hair on your chest. It's your cologne and fresh laundry... it's you grinning... pulling me in closer until our bodies' heat met, convection dripping from our spines. It's you. All of you.
It's the way you pause between each kiss, like a conversation you couldn't help interrupting. It is your hands peeling my garbs off and laying me bare on your mattress. Your tongue tracing invisible lines. It's how you look up at me. Your eyes, furiously hungry. You have me in your trap. Legs collapsing. Primal groans. The sound of you exorcising my soul through every orifice.
We like the same music but never once played songs... when we collided, our bodies had their own sounds... it's your hands on my lower back. It's you positioned on your side. It's me on top.”
Thanks for reading @Emily..