TheAmbassadorOfRomanceInVenus's blog: "Dripping Minds"

Two years gone. Two years gone, except for moments in the rain. Moments of days or weekends or even weeks, but still only moments. Always ending. Always holding their breath, waiting for the certain end. Now you are here. Now you are here and things are different. Things are the same -- I wake, eat, work, walk, sleep. But. I wake with the slightly musty, cinnamon and sesame scent of you clinging to the sheets. I eat breakfast -- the butter on my toast brings cream to my thighs, the jam dribbles juice and I am biting my lip, leaning against the kitchen counter with hips pressed flat against cold tile, aching. I have forgotten how to walk. I am dancing while I walk. I am swaying hips and letting my breasts lead and seducing the air against my throat as I walk. When I sleep, the mattress is jealous of intruding sheets that cling to my curving body, pulsing and whispering in the dark. And the work? Well, the work went well enough with you away, after all. Some learning, and a great deal of time for practice. Progress was made, no doubt. But it was, the critics admit, a touch arid. Chilled. Overly restrained. Three steps from the precipice, close enough to lean over and feel stomach churning, but not a step further. Now you have returned, my body is triumphant, throat, skin, stomach, thighs... and I am falling.