the ecstasy of love and pain, intimacy is the most frightful pleasure of them all – the touch, its excitement, telling you how weak I fall before your gaze – losing my triumphant armor, trembling at your breath like a fallen leaf. strength and slight aggression of the feeling – of the measure of it – mingles with fragility and softness, and I'm afraid I'll break it.
I'm scared you wouldn't like what you see and hear when I'm standing all naked in front of your all-seeing gaze. For I'm not perfect. I'm too self-aware of how not perfect I am. Of my wounds, my scars, my wrinkles, my pauses, my imbalanced words, my not being a goddess, and the lack of my mystery.
the ordinariness.
blankness.
dullness.
weakness, and the lack of knowledge of how to love. the dirt exposed.
