The river is love, the river is lust, and my body is submerged in it, and I am exhausting everything I have as all of my muscles strain against a force as powerful as the earth itself, the innate pull of water everywhere to the bottom of the ocean floor, to be pushed away by new water that also wants to be there, maybe even more. And the drive of all humans to take our weak, barely warm spark and combine it with another, maybe rub to create some fire, maybe make more. This is love.
And me… I can’t find a man who gives a rat’s ass about me. No man I know would ever do anything like that for me. Literally all they care about is fucking me, they do not care if it kills me. I think the only reason I keep fucking them is because I am, although in a more adult and in denial way, still quite suicidal.