#witchbarnes

MAKE BELIEVE

she got the spark, that light that gets you through the night and gives you life in the morning. the smell of her touch and the moist of her kiss, she is magic with just being. to get lost in the highways of her hips, touch the coldest places and fire it with my tongue, that's religion and divinity. she knows my ways so well, her hand just have to wave to get me on my knees, eyes up, glued to her chest, waiting... she's like the sun, the annoyance of her light will warm you, even if you try to run and hide. there's noting else but sweet surrender. i can't help but obey, her hand guides me into the marvel of herself and there's nothing else but sweet, sweet, sweet, wonder.

i'm sorry if this is delayed but you don't give any indication that you don't like bucky??? at all??? anon probably took something you said out of context (given the ask abt you prefering steve because he bottoms more (??? tf is that supposed to mean lmao) it's probably that they haven't actually interacted with your content much, so i promise u those of us who have don't think u hate him at all ♥)

Try something for me. I want you to say her name. I want you to say her name into the empty air and just listen to the echoes swimming upstream through time. I want you to say her name into the darkness and watch all the ghosts swirl into life for just a moment. I know that it hurts. I know that sometimes you can’t get up because the beat of your own sluggish heart sounds like her footsteps. I know that sometimes you can’t fill your lungs with half a good breath because the air tastes too much like her perfume and you can’t bear to let it disappear like unspoken words down your throat. I know that you are afraid to invoke too many ghosts in case they swarm around you and carry you away with them. Or maybe, maybe that’s not what you fear— maybe what you’re really afraid of is how badly you want it to happen,     how desperately you wish to disappear like the wisp of memories no one else remembers     how hopelessly you wish for the world to fade out in sepia tones so you can pretend it makes sense again. I know that her name is a prayer now. I know that her name is a prayer reserved for the darkest nights ands grayest days when the ghost of her in the corner of your eyes      feels more real than anything your fingers can touch in this world now. But child, I want you to say her name and listen to the echoes fading away into silence. I want you to say her name and taste the aftermath in the air. I want you to say her name again and again         and again                 and again until you can say it without a hitch in your breath,                                    without a stutter in your heartbeat. And then, I want you to say it just one more time and say your name right after hers so that you can touch her and exist with her and fade away into silence with her--      at least in sound      at least in the chambers of your straining ears the way you wish you had.

As time goes on, I cannot help but wonder if you were real if you were really here Were your arms always so welcoming? Was your light always so blinding?  Were your colors really so brilliant,      was your voice really so soothing,            were our days really so gentle and beautiful? Did I really know my way back to you as easy as breathing               as dreaming all those years ago  before skies grew dark  and I forgot how to navigate by the stars? Or maybe, perhaps,  I have made you up every glittering radiant bit of you inch by small sparkling inch.  Maybe you are just the painted figurine      of a desperate heart nothing more      than the wispy imaginings of          a wandering soul lost in the wild a glorious statue gilded in gold     only found in the twisted entrails          of a tired memory steeped in longing                for something that never existed.