The days used to be warmer. I used to feel the sun on my face and the light on my skin, and I would run around in fields and whistle to the beggars in the sky. I had dreams and hopes and thought about things deeply. I sat at the dinner table with good posture and made eye contact intently when I spoke. Then I met you. I was in a constant state of hunger. My own gluttony repulsed me, so in turn I tried to convince myself I was repulsed by you. You loved my hunger and brought me tubs of frosting and cakes and freshly boiled hens from your garden. I scarfed them down and then started crying for more. You’d lick away my tears and put me to bed. Things were simpler then. You were like staring at a thick black pool filled with glass. I could see my own reflection all the time, and it infuriated me. I began to hate you, I thought. Really, I began to hate myself. But the more hatred I saw, the more love I found underneath. You showed me the God in all of it; you always have. I was in a constant state of learning. You were an angry man cosplaying as a patient one. We had sex, and I saw my father. You cradled me after, and I felt my mother. You brought me back into the womb and fucked me pure again… read more >
