You feel alone. You feel like it defines you more often than you don’t, and it gets under
You feel alone. You feel like it defines you more often than you don’t, and it gets under your skin like blood, pumping around your system until it wraps itself around your veins each time you breathe in, every time your heart beats. It’s an exhausted kind of loneliness, the kind that only comes when you’re not understood. You thought it would get better, once you’d found someone else who shares your perversion. But you can never find that person, not completely. You’re a jumble of kinks and fetishes, the kind the world has never seen before, and it’s not about finding your perfect puzzle piece and slotting together like you just stepped off some terrible ‘young adult’ novel where 'He said’ and 'She said’ are just about all the descriptors that the author could come up with to represent speech. But that’s not what it’s about. And if you think it is, you’re just as naive as those vapid heroines. Perhaps you have to be. Perhaps that’s why they’re so popular. It’s never about finding the perfect fit. It’s about finding the best fit. Someone who matches up, fills enough of your holes that you don’t feel so fucking empty any more. There are plenty of best fits. They’re all just as unique and kinky and weird as you are. They all have their quirks, and some of those quirks will confuse you, some will disgust you. Some you can tolerate, and some might be your new favourite, the moment you actually give them a go. In the end, it’s about keeping an open mind, opening your arms instead of just hugging yourself so that you might be able to imagine what it might be like if those arms weren’t yours, and the embrace was out of love, and adoration, rather than frustration and loneliness. Chin up, kiddo. -- source link
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