I take a deep breath. It’s easier to face how much I want to let go and drift into the feeling when I’m breathing. It’s not as scary.

I hate hearing it described as “sub space” or “flying” or any of those other kitschy terms for it. It’s simply the great black ocean of release. Of safety. Of not having to drive, or be in control.


I want him to tie me up. To leave me there, bound, helpless. To occasionally inspect me, touch me, brush fingertips over skin. To murmur that I’m beautiful when I’m this package, this item, this objectified thing. Of his.

Last night he looked at me, the light still on, and called me his. There are no words for how it felt. Like gravity and love, wanting to fall desperately into it. Wanting to hear it again. Feeling his arms around me and being able to just belong to him. Without responsibility, without fear of messing it up.


Sometimes I would give anything to live in the darkness.


One Response to “wanted”

  1. For me it’s nothing like flying.

    It’s a drift. A selfless drift. A catharsis. A deep crying place. A place beyond crying. Something nameless and wonderful and horrible. And it’s something I need.

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