I Need The Protection Of Seeming Weak.

In Our Factions, We Find Meaning, We Find Purpose, We Find Life.

I Reach Out And Take His Hand. His Fingers Slide Between Mine. I Can't Breathe.

I Imagine The Wave Of Water Colliding With The Rock And Spilling Over The Tile Floor, Collecting Around My Shoes. Doing A Little At Once Can Fix Something, Eventually, But I Feel Like When You Believe That Something Is Truly A Problem, You Throw Everything You Have At It, Because You Just Can’t Help Yourself.

He Gives Me A Conflicted Look And Touches His Lips To My Forehead, Right Between My Eyebrows. I Close My Eyes. I Don't Understand This, Whatever It Is. But I Don't Want To Ruin It, So I Say Nothing. He Doesn't Move; He Just Stays There With His Mouth Pressed To My Skin, And I Stay There With My Hands On His Waist, For A Long Time.

If You Actually Succeed In Creating A Utopia, You've Created A World Without Conflict, In Which Everything Is Perfect. And If There's No Conflict, There Are No Stories Worth Telling - Or Reading!