Men, Misery, Ecstacy, Hands

Because first base doesn’t exist for me, I have to bypass convention and skip, with precisely planned procedure, straight to homerun. After the deed is done, the moment is satisfied, it can be nothing more than this I’d say, and resign all emotion. Be dead to life. Reject it because there’d be no future, not one envisioned by him anyway.

If he’d want it then I’d comply, but with such doubt and pessimism I’d sell him to anyone who’d he want, or want him, sell him with a bleeding piece of my heart and the bitter sweet reassurance that I was right. Engineering my own fucking misery.

Ermine Mews Laburnum Street London E2 8BF

A dream has been renewed once again. Fading in and out. A waking, conscious dream, completely real, completely reasonable and relived over and over. That moment of intense anticipation before, the savoured ecstasy, and after, eyes are opened and nothing exists but ourselves.

A new place now. Snippets of reality shifts the dream to this place. But it's unfamiliar. It was empty and solitary before, and the moment could be taken. But what of this new setting? Real, the risks are so real now. Now theres no excuse, no reason. Does the dream shatter back into nonsense?

Theres only one way to find out...