turning pages...

turning the pages were never this easy. sometimes it requires a tremendous amount of effort to stay with the flow of the words and the sentences that are penned down. it's as if there is a certain degree of effort on part of the writer in writing them and now it demands a similar effort on part of the reader to read them. but this was different. the fluidity of the words was unlike any other. maybe it was the fact that somewhere down the line of sub-concious thought, there was a parallel. the words formed sentences that formed emotions.

like the dark emotions of a sinfully victimised mind that begged for salvation. sought it in the wrong places and then somewhere along the path just gave up. the mind and the body had given up. but the eyes. the eyes still sought freedom. salvation.

the words bound him. entrapped him. just reading them evoked something sublimal within him. it was something that he had not experienced before. a feeling of wanting someone in sheer bestial manner. to ravage and consume and at the same time to be engulfed. to be utterly and totally annihilated by the other person's savage reciprocal of his own passion. it mattered not that he didn't even know the other person. he had not the faintest clue to what she was like. all he knew were the words that she had penned down and he had read. they were his map through which he would divulge into her. know her. feel her. want her. reality was a mere construct that prohibited his true thoughts from becoming a solid construct. they were there to hold him back from reaching out and touching her. but they mattered not.

sometimes you need not the reality. your imagination is more than enough.

words have power.

her's most certainly did.