“mine,” he whispers. “yours,” i breathe.

say my name like a prayer.

The Swan, 1915, by Hilma Af Klint

and you taste like danger but i feel so safe in your arms.

Lightbringer by Leoncio Harmr

i love you. that is one thing i am sure of， that is one thing i know above all else. i just don't know if i love you enough. sink your teeth into my wrist and scrape your fingers against my bone and tell me you still need me.

i have never found any human being whose company can substitute solitude. why is it， even in solitude， i seek you?

rage is a quiet thing. well， you think that you've tamed it but it's just lying in wait. rage， is it in my veins? i feel it in my face when i least expect it.