Taken In, Taken Away
Previous - this entry written on August 21, 2004 at 4:31 am - Next

Funny how I write the most when it's early in the morning or late at night, music and memories and a hundred different emotions swirling around my thoughts.

"Costume for a Gutterball" - nifty song.

I'm waiting to see what happens when someone in particular wakes up. Maybe then I'll have a way to quench this endless flame consuming me. For now? Photoshop. Chocolate. Caffeine. Music. Writing. Thinking. Same old Jax, yeah.

I wrote "Raven's Story" while listening to CDs in the middle of the night, stolen moments on the computer dreaming of a life and a world that I could never quite seem to reach. Back then... back then, the thought of submission seemed most pleasing. I wanted to be owned, to have someone I could trust to command me, no more confusions, no more worries.


...now I've learned that in the long run, there are things I treasure as much, even more. Now I've been taught by painful experience that I can't re-write my past. Now I've had it roughly and repeatedly shown that the only people I can truly trust are those I in some way hold and claim.

Now I want something.

...something I can never have? *slight smile* There is NOTHING in this world I can't have if I'm determined and clever and dilligent enough. I refuse to believe otherwise. So what do I want?

*purrs softly* I want to listen to him cry. I want, someday, to see the look in his eyes when my strap-on slides into his mouth. I want to be reassured that I can trust him, that he is a treasure and a prize that I am indeed able to claim. I want to call him Mine and not wince. I want to say his name and have him hear every one of the meanings it holds. I want to taste his fear, his pleasure, his pain, his joy, his confusion, his misery, his submission, his pride.

I want it all.

I want him.

I intend to have him.

Iri a'ona kintre linta sa haila, linta sa tequeo ashir.

...but then, if he could understand that, he'd already know how I feel about him, another word that I can only use because I know he is unaware of its meaning. Funny, that - how unwilling I am to show what seems to be to be a weakness. Some people would call it a strength.


Bang, bang. If you don't care about them, they can't hurt you. Not really. Not in any way that matters.

This entry has been brought to you by the Ability To Ramble, apparently. *amused*

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