With-in

There is this room, where souls bond. Floors of mosaic, tip toed upon, lazy feet pushed, fingers slid between fingers and seduced. There is this room, with no windows. No skylights. Just four walls. Four walls that cage as much as they free. That let ignominy swallow you as much as they enlighten. This is where contradictions coexist.

From the outside, it is hard even merely to imagine that such a place could come to be.

It's like some encapsulated reality, in a capsule, which exists from the inside and other crazy things like that. Threads of connections between beings, are formed, nurtured, and shattered. Irrational, unexplainable bonds rooted in raw needs. The honesty in those bonds is almost sacred. There is no pretension in those chords that tie. And untie. Almost as immediately as that thirst is quenched, the knots are opened up. Disentangled. Free to go.

But for as long as there is that inseparability, there is no questions asked. No answers sought.

Again, did somebody ever say, there was more honesty in lust than in love itself. Or did I just imagine. Being told so.