Good evening Mr. Bedtime
God, I can’t stop myself from opening every single notification from your blog. When I’ve written you an ask it’s even worse but the obsession is always there. Even when I have told myself I am not a good fit for you and that it wouldn’t work, I still have an itch begging to be scratched that doesn’t leave. Fuck you, I love you.
Sorry for the rudeness above ;-;
(submitted by: Anonymous)
I’ll forgive the rudeness… you only deployed it so you’d look a little less pathetic. And couldn’t even pull that off.
I’ve tried to open my heart of late to the perfect love of deeply imperfect cunts, so the parameters of a “good fit” have evolved. But if you don’t think you’re a good fit, you probably aren’t… as beautiful as it is, love isn’t enough. Yours needs to transcend the intimate and carnal, to reach a worshipful space where “fit” becomes irrelevant. Irrelevant because to serve me is to offer your identity upon my altar… all that you have been must pass away, as you slowly become whatever I need you to be.
The day you realize this is all more than an anxious, exciting sexual fixation —that within your passion there is a yearning for meaning that quiets when you think of me— you’ll understand that anything can work if you need me more than you need you.
See you then, kid.