no stone unturned

i want to be a mystery, yet be known

i want to be together, yet alone

She thinks back, briefly, momentarily through the haze to think that the last time someone had touched her so softly, so delicately, as though she could break when she’s always put on that façade of strength, of power, of hoping that people had become too afraid of her to grow close and attached only to learn of the blood that coated her hands, that coated her mouth if she thought about it too long – the iron melding into the strings of her life, of everything she’d done, intentionally or otherwise. So when he offers that pillar of strength, the stability in the posture of his to let her decide where he should go, letting him touch wherever she wanted, lips plump and pressed, she can’t help the shudder that slips down her spine when the sound leaves his lips.

He could absolutely destroy her, she thinks. And she thinks she might just let him.

He shudders too, parting before kissing her again, and as his hand meets her lower back in the space there and she arches into him, there’s the high pitched quiet whine that leaves her with it – craving more from him, to be noticed and loved and touched like something other than a woman with a dark past. Something about it makes her feel girlish, shocked and surprised at the tenderness, feeling as though she doesn’t deserve any of it with the darkness that remains in her heart. But she kisses him back once more, aiming a playful tug at his lower lip with sharp teeth.

is it too much to ask to be famous yet unknown?

to be a wanderer, yet have a home?

KIADA