In the moment, the words that came so close to slipping deftly past my lips- I love you. The words that would have changed everything, revealed my so closely guarded secret. His eyes closed, desperate breaths against my cheek. Hands grasping at my thighs, my own hands; feeling every muscle and curve of his chest, stomach... that forbidden place, my fingers quickly finding it before I can even realise where they're headed. He inhales sharply next to my ear, exhales shakily, slowly... his lips meet mine automatically, and he pulls away, eyes rolling back in his head, hands frantically searching, wanting to bring me along with him... but I whisper into his unruly hair, lips against his forehead, no. You don't have to. Because this isn't about me, at least I don't think it is... it's my desperation, wanting so terribly to be loved, fleeting voices in my head make me wonder what my mother will think of my being with him, not for this single moment, but with him; I actually thought that just by slipping myself inside, by giving him just a moment of sweat and secrecy and passion, he'd want to be with me.

But it's not this thought that plagues me now. It is that I wondered, believed, that I would finally found out what those three words upon his lips would sound like to my battered soul. As he gasped and pulled and rocked against me, I honestly thought he loved me. I wanted so terribly to give myself, wholly, to him. He swore against my swollen lips, cursed the situation; as I asked what he wanted, his response was simple, and the moment denied him the right to tear off my clothes and have me then. I laughed fully, smiled knowingly, spoke softly, wisely, temptingly, and I was a lie.

I want love. I want to be loved, and deep down I know I will sleep with him. I will hate myself, continue loving him despite, keep going back for more as I have so many times before. And in the in between, we never speak of our moments, stolen and silent. In this in between, I touch him and he doesn't respond, for the briefest of seconds I trail my finger down his skin, and he makes no acknowledgement. But during those times, he shudders as I speak his name; never have I felt more beautiful, more wanted, more powerful. Only I can send those beautiful eyes fluttering closed, only I can feel my skin against his own. I wait in vain to hear him whisper my name, to hear sweet apologies and declarations of love, and instead I hear his gasping breath against the air conditioning, pretending I feel those waves of pleasure when really I'm just wondering when it will all be over with.

I'm forever waiting for this prince to appear from the frog that I love so entirely, a love that is all consuming and all encompassing, a love that I am slowly losing myself in. I keep telling myself that next time my hands won't work to find their way inside, next time I'll be strong and walk away, leave my love behind with the one I love, but I won't. I'll keep playing this game with myself, keep getting hurt, and every time I'll lose a little piece of myself within his walls.

If only I could get the memory of us, lying wrapped around one another, feigning sleep and innocence, off of my mind...

feedback