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  • Happiness is being fucked so rough you can hardly breathe, can hardly speak, can do nothing but squeal like a rat as he nails you over and over, pushing inside of you so hard, so deep, that you can feel the man not only with your body, but also with your soul as well. Happiness is waking up the following morning, barely able to recall your own name because the only one that mattered was his, screamed so loud your throat is painfully raw, like the name had bled from your lips.
  • And love. . .
  • It means seeing the beauty in the ugly, the light in the dark, and accepting that even if the lights are off and I can't see what's in front of me, there will be something to guide my way. Love means turning yourself inside out and handing yourself over to someone else. Trusting them to touch you, handle you and bend you, but never break what you give them.
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