I wake up from a nightmare with a violent pounding as if my heart swelled and consumed the hollow of my insides, beating everywhere all at once. My body pounds in a rhythm and I feel delicate like an egg that’s about to crack. I sit up cautiously so I don’t interrupt the mechanics of my organs, and sip slowly some water till I’m a little calm. I was chasing you with a kitchen knife, I recall. I cannot think why, because I don’t have a reason. My head hurts so I stop reasoning and maneuver myself toward the window.
The city is lit by a million fireflies. At quarter to three, it is quiet and peaceful outside. I rest my head at the window-glass and try to listen to the pulse of the city from 20th floor, watching the cold wind ruffling and dancing with almost-ancient trees. The window-glass feels cold and moist and hard to my face, just like it felt when I kissed you the first time. The walls you built around you were so thick yet transparent. Anyone could see what was happening inside but couldn’t break into.
I drift into the memory lane as if watching some old Kodak films, recalling how life unfolded in these months. How difficult you were at first but then blossomed and opened your soft interiors to my touch when I persisted. How I was at the verge of giving-up but you always had me with some invisible thread, never letting me consume you or giving enough space so I could shoot up to the stars far away. The confusion you carried in you had me on my toes. In those days, I was so susceptible I could burst if you finger-popped your mouth at me. Maybe, then I wished I had a knife so I could cut open your softest parts.
You moan on the bed, unconsciously rubbing yourself on the pillow between your legs. I start getting hard watching you till I cannot help but slip by your side, slid my hand in your panties and guide my fingers. It takes a minute when I start feeling your cream. Then so quickly, you’re fast asleep again, satisfied and peaceful, leaving me horny and hollow. My body aches in desire and I feel I should slit your throat but I’ve started to like this hollowness, and I like you creamy.
I watch shadows on the ceiling of our bedroom, listening to the decaying pounding of my heart in my head, and slowly fall asleep.