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Storm before dreams

The storm continues outside as I watch the ceiling. I’m naked in bed and I’m alone. I’m lonely. I feel the isolation like a tiny ship in a storm. I feel the weight of years of depression and anxiety like more blankets plied upon me as I look up from my bed towards the ceiling as though I’m able to look through the house up into space.

I move my hands across my bare skin. I’m alone, horny, and I’m tired from a long day. I imagine, for the briefest of moments, that a fit boy is next to me in bed. I’ve imagined boys I’ve met being more than friends but I’m too shy to do more than dream. I’m not obsessed with any one boy in particular. I just want a boy that dreams about being with a boy like me.

I’m drifting like that tiny ship. I feel those night dreams pulling downwards and upwards. I feel my body wanting another body next to it. I feel a longing, a desire, that captivates me. I’m pulled by things of imagination.

As the storm lessens I lose my grip to sleep and dreams of the night. I close my eyes and drift towards dreams.

Categories: writing


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