texts texts texts

[onefellswoop]

this one is for texts!

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3/4

[citrinesupernova]

Said I’d like to see your scars, and everything you are as well, and so I do.

(I'll have a look at that back of yours while I'm at it, shall I? Let you know its comparison to the Majorcan photo, though I'm guessing now no photo can compare with the honest sight of you.)

With the self same fervour, I want your knowing on my tattoos, every mark and every corner of my skin, my self. I want to know the shadow of your hands, my Talik, and your breath against my neck.

Academically speaking, and then non-academically speaking in future times, when all can be discussed and acted without hazard of reprisal. At present, it’s a thought to dream on for my self. Warm in shivers through my being, and true it’s kept my company each day, each night since the potentiality first showed itself.

Going to be a lengthy two weeks, full on interminable, but it won’t lack dreaming, and there’s more company in a message written from you than I’ve known in years. Closer and more wanted company than ever I’ve known.

There’s nothing you’ve said that takes me as disrespectful, nor unworthy. Nothing you’ve said that doesn’t match my wishing, or what I’d care to hear.

Every line you give, I value. Bright or romantic warmed or sharp with grief, I wish it all and value all.

What’s this worry or wariness for speaking, Talik? Take that question rhetorical or meet it with an answer, no censure either way. What I’m finding’s there’s not words enough to say the measure of my meaning fully. Might be there never can be words enough, and part of speaking waits in gesture and in eyes meeting eyes, hand slipped into hand.

For myself, there’s meaning can be spoke only through playing it, that cello of mine filling gaps where I lapse inarticulate. Which is also to say I’d like to play for you and shall first chance I get, aye those songs I wrote and rarely play for hearing. Might also be to say I’ve songs for writing yet, outside my glimpsing before knowing you and now, see Talik, now I long to find em.

Don’t for an instant think your Vevay could weary of what’s romantic, particularly when it’s from your self. If you’re a fool, then I’m your fool to match, and we’ll keep these romantic notions as an arboretum of our own, to flourish and bask in precisely as we please.