Aftermath of Oxytoxin.

Description of the aftermath of an affair, of sex. Aftermath of being left, and being needed.

I wait for quiet lonliness to tell you of all that has happened. I'm crying but cannot manage to stop, even though this is something that I know makes you cringe. You hate tears, the salty concoction of weakness more terrible than want of the flesh. You have so many hates, I have trouble remembering that I love you.

But before I can even say a word, whisper something pitafull, I watch your skin. It's began to look shallow, grey and sick. Ironic that once you asked me of my own fear of decompisition when you yourself are decaying something fierce. Your lines look so taunt, shadowed, curved. This is your body which you destroy, this is the confusion you give to others.

I tell you about the disbelief, the pain, the chillls. About the bug bites and chattering teeth, which I know is dissapointing- further proof of a body. But my actions, look at them- there are no excuses, no getting around this. I mean my God, moaning and whispering and parading as you were, as if there were good reason. There is no reason.

I tell you about the want, so undeniable. I cannot even manage shame of this fact, because it is there and already birthed. Not only want of the flesh, of the body, but want of my heart. That is what it's called. Want of the voice I heard from the side that caught my attention, want for what made my skin feel like it was melting. Though you refuse to want to hear the fact, I'll readily tell you : it was amazing and I loved each moment and didn't want it to stop. I still want, but more sustenance for my soul than body this time.

My skin felt ready to fall off and I allowed it. Numbers were forgotten, I still can't believe it. Futures are being thought of, in my mind where it's movie reels. But just like the voice said, what is there to want and hope for At The Moment?

The answer is far too simple.