the word devoted had no meaning until now before him there were always others someone else to catch my eye like a bower in its bough of shiny little trinkets, i collected and left waste to accrue around me scattered under the pretence of art and they were always different never the same for fear of boredom never mind the loneliness held in the palms of foreign hands smeared over my body like glue to be picked at and flaked off over the coming days and left in a pile with the other discarded skins that i did not like the fit of and they would remain the poor pretty things not fully forgotten but held in some grey limbo to be romanticised between the hours of 12 and 4am and should time permit somewhere around 11 but only when it rained and despite the constant of company i was completely and utterly alone curiously fetishised at the best of times misunderstood at the worst i hate being looked through as though i am speaking another language entirely or worse not speaking at all never quite pretty enough to stick and perhaps a little too smart threatening but not in the way a man likes and i tried to be good and they would tell me when i was good girl good girl but it was empty until i heard it from him for the rest i would arch my spine and twist and writhe the perfect performance designed to please everyone but me oh but with him i didn't have to pretend no my body knew his long before i let my mind acknowledge that we might be in deeper than we should it was when i didn't have to cry out his name with an urgency designed to make them lose control no, it was my own loss of control that called his name forth fervent from my lips in prayer it was when i was not afraid to be held i did not perch or pull away nor did i lay awake sleepless and fitful trying desperately to match the rhythm of an unfamiliar breath i didn't need to escape i simply just slept and it was when he looked at me and for once i was tangible not just a concept or a convenience i was me in all my big and loud gestures my thoughts that often don't make sense my passion and my moments of fear and particularly my mess he looked me in the eye and did not waver for a second i was lost to him then and now i look around and know that i am blind to all but him for it will always be his eyes that i search for in a crowd heartbreakingly brown and tender his hands that i will see on my skin it is his arms that show me strength it is his face that i could describe to you if you had enough hours in the day to listen for i have a thousand words and more i could not perceive another not even if i tried if it is not him its no one
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