Maybe I'm sad about wanting you. I'm not too comfortable with wanting someone.

Her lips tarried at mine. Baiting each other with the warmth of our breath, barely grazing, detouring, then connecting.

Pressed against her I can hear eternity -- hollow, lonely spaces and currents that churn ceaselessly, and the fallen snow welcomes the falling snow with a whispered "Hush".

I wanted a heaven. And I grew up striving for that world-- an eternal world- that would wash away my temporary misery.

Maybe I'm sad about wanting you. I'm not too comfortable with wanting someone.

You have so many layers, that you can peel away a few, and everyone's so shocked or impressed that you're baring your soul, while to you it's nothing, because you know you've twenty more layers to go.

Shame is always easier to handle if you have someone to share it with.