This is not at all what I imagined, but life The rest of this time feels like feathers and fingertips. I am unable to remember how we ended the call, I imagine I didn’t just stop existing until he showed at my door, but that is absolutely what it felt like. Life has a way of showing you a piece of candy in that heart shaped box, that one piece that surprises you with a flavor you never craved until you sink your teeth into it.

Nothing exists outside of my mouth, my tingling lips, my greedy hands, and your glistening body.

I have always been eccentric but I've always tried to dim, to blend. Blend "enough" anyway. I don't want to blend anymore. Unless I'm blending with bodies and mouths, I want to scream through my sketchbooks.

Your fate is twisted with mine. You're here to destroy me, to save me, to strip me down to the bone. I don't want to be saved, no no. Fuck that. I need you to listen to me, kill me before I become any less of me, and more of...this.

I realize the windows are open, and I look back at him, he shakes his head no, “Please, keep them open, I want someone to see you own me.

Aria with a faint hint of a smile in the corner of her eyes, "Good boy, I'm proud of you, even if you're a disgusting and classy fuckboy."

Note: Draft script from novel and graphic novel in progress: "Theory of Constraints: The Uncertainty Principle" © Sarah Ottobre. This is a sneak peak draft before the final prose. Excuse any strange formatting or type-o's. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aria and Luciano are at a prestigious Broadway play, and its just cringe terrible. They are disappointed, and they keep looking back at each other making pained

The incense flutters ribbons of gentle smoke in the background. He is unusually quiet. Aria looks at him. “Something, on your mind?” she swirls her wine, looking intently at his hands as they are hung in his lap, with a weight in his shoulders. “Aria, my love. I must confess something to you.”

“Goodnight. I love you.” She says. I die inside. How can she love me when she doesn’t even know I’m suffocated a mere arm-length away from her. My aberration of a body shares the same bed with her small frame, but she doesn’t feel the tension radiating from me. How. I can’t tell her I love her right now.