blood_red_sharpie_desire_lines once again ”So this is how it’s going to be? I’m officially a careless asshole and you officially hate me?” ”I will never, ever hate you.” And when she learned about desire lines she knew exactly what they meant. The shortest possible path, maybe not the easiest, or the most clearly marked, but the one people choose in order to get what they want. Her desire line always led to him and the safety of a shirt. And he follows this line back to her, her shining, not-blonde wavelets. Desire’s iridescent fibers shining in his eyes. Somehow, this almost invisible and subtly fragile string still manages to hold them together. ”Still want that hug?” ”Would it be cliché if I said always?” ”Yes.” ”So I won’t.” ”What will you say then?” ”Sure.” And they wonder if they should be doing this. And he worries he is hurting her. She worries he will stop. In their indecision they are united. And they do what they do, not because they must… although sometimes it seems inevitable that this is what it all must mean. Yet here they are, doing what they do. Does it mean any less, for what they do not share? Does it mean more somehow, for being all that they dare? Is simple friendship braver then the most fiery of passions? Is desire a myth… alluring, beautiful and dangerous, but still as evanescent as morning fog? ”I like you.” ”Are you drunk?” And is honesty so hard? Is it so much easier to live with the safety of a lie? Who are you saving from destruction? Or what? And why? And here she holds tight to that invisible cord, a lifeline, a death rope. She thought he had it wrong the first time he said it, but she has come to agree. She wonders what this means and if she should be scared. But she has lived unflinchingly so far, in the face of mistakes, in the face of trials, and nay-sayers and pain. And so she smiles, presents her back to the knife in her fist and holds tight to her desires. ”Love is the knife we stick in our own backs.” 041004 what's it to you? who go blather from