• That is what I need from you. Even if it's not for me, even if it's written for someone else, even if it's written only for you, even if the way I interpret it is completely antithetical to your intent. It moves me. Not much does. What I mean is that it channels and focuses a strange elemental attraction, distracts me from what I should be doing, and can I think only of you: of where you might be, hoping I can transmit to you what I am feeling. I want you to feel it too. I want you to amplify and return it, and I will do the same. It demonstrates to me that either I have less strength of will than I'd like to believe, or once again that you know the way into the most secret part of me, which is closely guarded, heavily defended, labyrinthine by design. Maybe it is both. You are one of my weaknesses. For a short time, a seducer by practice was able to break in, but it was a game for both of us, and our intent was laid out in advance so nobody would get hurt. The approach was purely one-dimensional and it didn't hold my interest very long. The path shifts, moves, hides in self-defense. He couldn't find his way back, and I didn't bother to show him. Another stumbled upon it, knows where it is, but didn't care much to access it once found, and maybe never saw the point except as it suited his needs. I realize our circumstances feed this, but only you have been able to sustain mastery of this part of me for so long. It sort of excites me to know you can silently walk in any time you like, no breaking and entering necessary, no accidental discovery. You know the way inside even as it changes, tries to remain elusive--as if it were already yours, as if it were always yours. Even if it's only in my mind and purely imagined, it feels like overwhelming twisted pleasure, like a drug high, like an addiction. It feels like a transgression. It makes me want more, and makes me to feel as though I am suffering for lack of it when it is gone. If nothing else, be happy that you have the power to fuck with my mind.

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