Your existence is like a breath of smoke.

Noxious.

and.

addictive.

Please come back, the saudade of your kiss,

is regret in my heart. Smoke the coils in my throat,

the memory of your taste, of the heat between your thighs.

I close my eyes; I don't love you.

I never did.

Sometimes, I half believe it's true.

Apagar.

Forget your eyes.

Forget your breath.

Inhale.

Hold you in until

my lungs feel like

it would explode.

Like ion in your mouth.

Apagar.

I love you.

Now I hate you.

Apagar on Exhale.

This is a a story response to MissTangerine's Saudade.

And consequently, a story dedicated to MissTangerine.

(art credits to http://black-amps.tumblr.com)

There were days when he still loves her, when he just laid in the quiet of his bed and his eyes are just tired. Tired of the light, and the darkness, and the quiet, and the noise, and all sensations that does not involve her. Her scent, her breath, her taste, her lips, her skin.

.inalar.

She has her arms linked with another man, not him, and he breathes the image in and he drowns. The sparkles of feelings explodes in his lungs, flashes of wonder. She sees him, and he could almost feel her fingers down his spine, on his hips, intimate touches and breathes, countless breathes she takes with him. Loud and laboured. Like their existence twined together like their limbs, like his breath was hers, and hers was his.

When they were intimate, when he was inside her, her sprawled in his bed, and in tangles with sheets and bound to his will, and he loves her in secret. His release had always been blinding, and a confession so near the tip of his tongue.

He holds unto it like how he does of each breath of memories.

There is a haze, when the watery wings of air flutter inside his lungs in a rampage. And there is nothing but release. Nothing else.

He is clutching at the man's collar.

He is in haze. His breathe stuck inside him, her memories stuck in his head.

"Seung hyun!" She screams, echoing the memory of her voice in his head. Breathless just like how he likes it. Breathless and laced with fear.

There were days when he hated her, and when the idea of love seemed absurd. In those nights, he indulges in a dream so fulfilling, they were nightmares of black and white and red, red, of a ruby slit around her pale, white neck, a sea of obsidian black mane. And there were no more breathes and there was quiet. But then, he loves her again and he regrets how he could even dream of hurting her.

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