*my favorite taste is you

he gathered himself together and readily sat down.

"i'm sorry... I didn't mean to stir any of it I just wanted to know more..."

she lashed out - "how so? Haven't you felt it already? How much more can I squeeze this for you?!"

"no... I mean, yeah, you're right - it's just... I want to know how it felt for you..."

she tensed up. She wasn't having any of it. Not there, not that day, not forever. Yet that was the chance of letting it out.

"how it felt?! 'Yeah it's all in the past, psshht!' - I'll tell you how it fucking felt. 'K... First of all, It's not like I've ever had a chance. You will never, ever know how it feels like - not like this, not right now. Have you ever been so into something you are afraid you'll disappear in it?

it's a lot like that. But it never stops. I got in and I never got a fucking chance. It hit me like a brick wall - bang bang bang, nothing I could do to stop it. The tenderness, you know? The caring, the teenage puppy love, all that shit.

and then you start to get used to it, "maybe it'll go away one day after a great sleepless night" - maybe it has already gone away! No - the smile you're so lovingly embracing pushes you back in, over and over again - bang, bang, bang! You know you're in deep in quick sand, you desperately want to jump out but your core, your truest most cruel self wants it. Wants every bit of it - and then some more. And you start to like it - the bang is now a fulfilling prophecy of togetherness, there's nothing wrong or even bitter about it -"

"- i had no..."

"- shush let me finish -

there's is no anger, just love, just light. And you keep getting hit, and the louder the bang the deeper the wound. The bigger the wound, the more you want it. And it never stops growing. You start to love it, you start to care for it, you want to nurture it. Bang, bang, fucking bang!

and then, when you finally surrender, you have dealt yourself up in the hopes one last moment will be the start... it turns fucking quiet. So quiet it makes you shiver. It's not a regular silence - it's a deafening nothingness, the disappearance of all the projections, all the mirrors, all reflections. Mind numbing stillness.

and then you stop. You just... fucking stop. Until you decide there's nothing left to do but everything in your power to create hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. Because - that's where you will always fail  - if you hate me, everything's is a bit easier then. Maybe, just maybe, if I succeed in making you hate me, it'll be ...easier.

because there is nothing - not now, not ever - that can change what I've been through. There is nothing deep enough to make me care. There will never be.

so, yeah. My favorite taste is you but I need you to hate me.

fucking hate me already!"

she hit her hands on the table and a teardrop fell on her left pinky finger.

"there!"