@ragemade sent : [ tears ] !!!! / nonsexual acts of dominance, not accepting !
when she was little, fred used to think crying meant letting parts of you pour out: like bleeding — do it too much, you’ll RUN OUT. she wonders now how much of herself has been poured out of her eyes — or how much should’ve been cast out, cleansed from her blood, but was kept stubbornly tucked inside her tear ducts. she wonders, too, if it’s coming all out now because HE’s here: for the way he alone can tug at the exposed wires of her short-circuited remembering, or because her body can sense that he’s the SAFE SPACE in which her freedom takes the shape of WEAKNESS. or fragility — the ability to shatter, knowing one way or another she’ll put herself back together again.
“ i’m sorry ”. the apology is INNATE, encoded in her dna — even HIM can do nothing against it. she smiles, embarrassment pouring out with her tears, for he’s been the VICTIM fo her own idiotic choices and yet she still somehow awards herself the LUXURY of crying — foolish, spoiled, selfish. she moves to pull away, excuse herself back to a corner where she won’t have to EXCUSE her sadness, but his touch warms the skin where his fingertips land. FAMILIAR, always, and always excruciating: sometimes she thinks it’s her body BURNING whenever he’s close to remind her of the amputation she performed on herself, when she turned her back on him — a punishment if you will, holes of arrows in her flesh like saints carrying the signs of MARTYRDOM.
the words die in her throat, then. it’s not DESIRE that clouds her eyes when they’re raised upon him, rather the need to LET IT ALL OUT. she’s a frozen land on the last day of winter, begging for the SUN to melt it back to life — freddie swallows, hard, and all she can do, really, all this AVALANCHE that brews in tears and sobs inside her lungs will let her, is lean so close to him that their foreheads touch, that she can remind herself SPRING has come, at last. “ i missed you so much ”. she won’t stop crying, not for a while — she cries for nothing in particular, and for everything in the world. for the grief etched in her bones, the parts of her that have been BLEEDING for a decade. she cries ‘cause there’s no other language she knows to let this all out, if not screaming, or throwing herself into the OCEAN and hope for tidal waves and thunder. she cries, and in her crying she might drown, but he’s the ANCHOR she desperately holds on to. in hushed whispers, she won’t let go.
“ i missed you so much ”.
