BLANK
I sit down to write and my mind is completely blank. Writer's block, a lazy excuse I read somewhere. So many things I want to say and yet I'm unable to capture the beauty of it the way I want. That's when I think of you. And my words flow...
Your skin smooth like silk, your lips warm and inviting, your arms that crush me against the length of your body. I can write a whole book on the way you make me feel and still find it incomplete. Or maybe I should write a saga on our story.
There are things I wish to tell you in person, things that I want to say aloud as I look into your eyes. But as always, the words refuse to leave my mouth, getting stuck somewhere in between my throat that I swallow it in haste.
Would I ever be able to tell you how much you mean to me? Will I ever have the courage to do so? Or will I be labelled as a freak of nature for daring to love you? Just because I'm a clumsy like you?
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