#pepthief

I find myself wishing to crumble under the sublime. I’m filled by a strange longing to love someone so beautiful that their beauty infects me until it’s all I see in this crushed world that surrounds me. I write about beauty, I write about longing, I write about absolute desolation. All I want...

The ache I feel is not one of the Soul, but of the Body. It’s the sharp, empty kind of loneliness that feels like it’s endlessly building to nothing. The kind that makes you look in the mirror and think, well. Maybe there’s nothing behind those eyes. Maybe there never will be. But this is the Body, after all. There’s no such depth to the wants of the Body, no lush thought past ‘touch me’ and no further wonder than the kind that steals away your thoughts in the middle of morning tea to a place where someone kisses you on the back of the neck and misses you when you’re gone. This thing I have, it can’t be from the Soul. It’s all lust and longing, and my Soul is fine. My Soul is happy.