Discovery.

And here I sit as the sun rises, staring at an empty page, wondering. I talk about you often, love. Rant and scream, cry and sob, whisper or yell or just... talk. It's felt for so long that it was part of a mourning process, the only way to keep what little of you I thought I had.

Now?

I don't know. We drifted so fucking far apart that I still only know where to begin when it's my hungers, my hunting urges, talking. Whatever part of you once needed my protection, you did a wonderful job, these past few years, of hiding from my view.

"Find me," you say. And how would I be doing that, little one? Your dreams are nightmares I'd hesitate to walk these days. Your time is taken up by work, by sleep, by other people. You know the few things that will draw me from seclusion and, guilty though I am for this, I am afraid I don't know what will pull you free.

I want to be the one you come to each night after work. I want to hear about the day, good parts and bad ones, about silly incidents and inside jokes I don't get and the little dreams each moment inspired.

I want to be the one you come to late at night, the nights when it's all too much, when you want to lose yourself in someone else's will, to no longer need the control you've learned and been forced to practice. I want to see you bound tight, to feel you inside me, to fuck you until you're begging to be allowed to cum, and then to roll you over, grab a strap-on, and fuck you even harder until you're begging me to stop, one hand teasing you while I do so, ending with you cumming as well... I want to see you, mostly unbound now, cleaned up as well as hands and mouth can manage, curled in a little ball on the bed beside me, burying yourself in my arms.

I want to be the one who occasionally shows up on the doorstep of your workplace with goldfish crackers and a rose - one with the thorns still on it, of course.

I want to be the one you turn to. I want to hear my phone ringing at odd hours just because you were awake and lonely, just because you needed something, someone, needed me.

I want to know what would bring you down from the Dreaming without causing your own dreams to stop. I want to heal your hurts. I want to make you hurt, for me. I want to wrap my arms around you and nuzzle at that shaved head and tell you everything is ok.

Maybe it's futile - clutching at something that Once Was, rather than looking forward. Maybe there isn't anything I CAN do. Maybe at this point the only person who can actually put things back together between us is you, love. And maybe not. What do I know? *shrug*

You know where to find me.

I have not given up the hunt... but even the greatest hunter needs a few tracks to go on.

...and if you're the one responsible for the piskies that keep giving me headaches, call 'em off. I don't speak Jibberish.