Whispers and Memories.

Your lost in the dark.

In the cold.

In a room.

A bare bulb, lights. Opaque, dim.

Strong, slender arms find you.

Wrapping around your waist.

Pressing you against him.

Warmth finds you.

You look up in an ocean of blue.

Face lit.

Radiating happiness.

Radiating desire. Or lust?

Your no longer lost.

No longer cold.

No longer in the dark.

Pulled out from the depths of an onyx ocean.

Pulled into the arms of a birch.

Its dark cuts and slits scrap against your arm.

Scars lead to memories.

A pain that trap you inside the darkness.

It pulls you back down into the dark.

Back into the abyss of ink.

Ink with speckled white.

White specs of happy memories.

Memories you go to for comfort.

For desire.

Fantasy against the cold bitter reality.

For an escape.

This comfort keeps you amidst sough.

Drowns you in diversion.

In a room were all could be heard are whispers.

Whispers and memories.