As the title scrolls by, you know the text of what is there. Maybe not the exact words - but the feeling that the words hold.

Across hundreds or thousands of miles, a stream of '1's and '0's. Each bit measured and calculated - cold and digital. Together they tell of a story that makes your heart ache. A sorrow as deep as any you have felt.

And you cry. The words - phosphorescent points on a vacuum tube - they have the power to rip your heart apart.

Once, you knew the pain too. You reached out to whatever arms you could find to hold. Something to comfort you - and found emptiness. Here is someone else, reaching out, trying to find those arms to hold and comfort them.

The same glow of light that ripped out your heart feels so inadequate to express that you know this pain too - that you wish your arms could be there to comfort them.

/msg my muse *hug*

Can it ever suffice?

When I lay in bed at night alone, I have to remember, when I think of you that way, to breath.

My eyebrows knit and my toes point and everything in between reacts involuntarily to what it's like when you touch me.

My nerves recall the way you play my flesh that turns my spine to a tuning fork, a boiling effervescence for my medulla oblongata to feed to my brain. They hum an impatient entreaty even when you're far away.

It's bad enough you've saturated my brain... You've become a touchstone for every thought, but I can manage to trick my mind with temporary diversions; voracious reading, rapturous creativity, work... but my body just can't get you out from under my skin. When my thoughts stray, to the tiny scar on your lip, your spicy smell, those eyes that I recognize, the core of me contracts...

When we go there all I am is how you're touching me. You dictate the arch of my back, the grind of my hips, the rag of my breathing, the flit of my eyelids. I am a hopeless marionette. Sometimes you study me intently, and your countenance is the same as when you're busy taking apart some gadget.

This thing you do undoes me, too.

My thoughts loose, evaporate, transform, unbound from their mortal coil, like swallows startled from a power line flying away in a perfectly choreographed chaotic grace. It's a little unsettling, I'll admit, this power you have, to invoke my id so completely. Sometimes you wonder where I am, because I don't seem to be on this plane. If it's a little death, you send me beyond the grave to utter oblivion. My body trembles for hours under the effort it takes to gather my soul back to its seat.

And sometimes when we kiss and I open my eyes and see you gazing back at me, eyes dilated, I know how fleeting this thing we have is.

It hurts just to watch it go by.

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