Side by side, we walked through the frigid, wet night in the city and we suddenly found ourselves under the string of dancing stars that wove itself back and forth between the walls of the intimate alleyway, making the quiet scene radiate with life. Cars passed by us, and several clouds of smoke appeared in the air from those who most likely endured a long, difficult night of work.
Eventually, we were alone; as his hand covertly wandered its way into my broken palms and carefully crafted themselves between the worn crevices of my fingers, a tremendous surge of pain overwhelmed my soul that cracked the very centre of body. At that instant, my being completely froze up and I frantically pulled away the very instant my hand recognized it wasn't yours. It didn't want anybody else's but yours to hold ever so tightly in that inept moment. It was tainted, and what's left of my soul closed up so quickly in fear. This unprecedented sensation threw me off guard and into a dark space of vulnerability for the remainder of the night. While the difficult, unspoken dialogues ended collectedly, as I approached home I fell into a deep frenzy afterwards--my head became throbbingly light and my heart worn, confused, and furious, all happening simultaneously. Time slowly passed and I exhausted myself--I ultimately resisted the livid urge to dive in head first into the shallow pool of self destruction. Oh, how badly did I crave it. I was mad. I was frightened. I was vulnerable. Yet, all my hands wanted to do was to search for yours; all I wanted was to be in the safety and comforts of your embrace, once more.