Reading Day 4
Battle, Roses and Lesbian SexXK #fiction, #roses, #lesbianism, #sex
She gazes at the wall, breathing, she tries to breathe calmly as if she was sleeping. Her eyes follow the pattern of the wallpaper, she’s not moving her neck. She’s in bed, with her lover next to her. And the stripes of sun, through the blinds in the window, slowly set over the wall whilst the sun rises. Like a knife of light, decapitating the roses from their rococo-like haulms. She thinks; Rosa Palustris, Rosa Kordesii, Rosa Glauca, Rosa Arvensis, and Rosa Setigera... The hand on her shoulder, the hand of her lover, starts petting her. ‘You’re not sleeping… I know you too well. I hear from your breath you’re awake, I see on the rhythm of your ribs that you’re awake… you can’t fool me.’ The lover whispers, the lover’s nail polish is worn-out, and she knows that last night’s lipstick of the lover is smeared out on both of their faces. She closes her eyes when the lover raises her head to look at her face. ‘You’re pretending.. and you don’t know it, but I see it, you have an awful poker face’ The lover’s laugh is a gurgling stream, or like magpies up the pine tree, that’s the laugh she fell for, down into the love. The lover’s loud laugh. … sacramento rose, virgin rose, winged rose, the burr, and eglantine’s rose ‘I can’t sleep…’, she murmurs. The lover’s head in her neck says: ‘Do you wanna talk about it?’
‘Why can’t I sleep; either it’s a tornado or a black hole in here…’ banging her index finger at her forehead. ‘Either it is running thoughts that scare the sleep away, or a pitch dark emptiness that engulfs the sleep long before I had the time to sip on it... And it’s all, everything, this – this whole thing, is just so brutal, so strong, and sometimes just slightly too much.’ The lover’s tongue on the bone of her neck; ‘What thing? Do you mean this thing?’ ‘Reality is so fucking real, that is becomes surreal’, she grasps and continues, ‘life is no more than a constant now, it happens at this very moment, with no repetition, and it’s so substanssstia…’ she stumbles on the word substantial, she smiles to herself and then she tries one more time, ‘it’s so substantially physical, that it sometimes, when I think about it, turns into a car crash of experiential insights, and then I don’t know what to do with myself.’ The lover spits in her belly button and licks the spit with her lips. ‘I would say most people struggle with the opposite – feeling like faceless zombies. But I hear you, there are rarely any true grey tones in life, most of the time it’s either pitch dark or these vibrant glitter rainbows. I mean, you’re either having a faceless life or you’re having a face-off with life.’ ‘And then it starts to feel like a greyish milky paste, paralyzing however. And if it finally feels like you have come somewhere in the thinking or in the so-called inner peace, the center moves, like magnetic poles, it moves. It repels. This problem, this angst or this meaning of life; the one thing amongst many things you try to understand about yourself and the world; it moves parallel
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