and the lighting is gorgeous

I wanna make love to the sound of a beautiful orchestral piece… Can you imagine it? Can you imagine the passion? The softness? The transcendence? Can you imagine the beauty of it all? Turning your own bodies into instruments? Merging the two most enticing forms of ethereal pleasure together… Savour music with your lips, play along with your heart and feel it dissolve at the edge of your skin. Shudder beneath the soft kisses of a mouth led by a light pianissimo, and it’s all gorgeous and it’s romantic and it makes your heart roar ever so slightly alongside that incredible melody. And then there’s a violin solo, or a flute, and their hands show you how the music feels, and it is all in such perfect synchrony that the goosebumps on your skin reflect themselves upon your soul. And suddenly you can barely breathe as the crescendo unfolds itself on your bare body, their hands grow eager, their lips tear you into pieces in such urgency that hunger becomes too small of a word to describe it. Your chest rises and falls in a desperate attempt to keep up with the blast of harmonies that erupt and awaken a part of yourself​ you didn’t know existed. The music is the frenzy before the storm, and so are you. As it sprints higher and faster, it resonates wider and deeper within your core, like an incessant echo between every taste you engulf of them, a vibration of the air around and against your every nerve ending. You cease to have 5 senses, for you intake that experience as a whole, and you don’t know if it’s the music that transports you to another realm of existence, or if it’s a vigorous sequence of exploring touches that overflows your sense of reality. And maybe you’ll never know… But it all builds up inside you, it grows and it growls enough for you to scream and plea aloud. And you’re part of the melody that brings you both undone in the sheets of your own brand new piece, written in shaky breaths and ecstasy. The music settles, guiding your heartbeat into redemption. And you lay there, tracing their skin with your fingertips to the sound of the finishing touches of a piano, long before it’s faded.

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.