i whizzed past a blur of domestication. terraced houses crowding london together in their isolation. As the overground began to slow to a stop I saw the inside of someone’s living room. Lit bright with an array of fairylights it looked warm. The same way the colours yellow, pink, and orange look warm in their combination.
it reminded me of the warmth within us. the warmth that some people can access readily, and others have to search for. i think to my own warmth. not to be bought, not to be sold, and not readily available.
the warmth burns me from within. felt so intensely at times but so often suppressed. the warmth that heats the egos of some all too easily, leaving me wanting more.
the warmth i sometimes feel within you but is so quickly taken away. i’m at arms length but now i’m aware of it. i know my worth, my pleasure, and my pain. i know i’m letting you define all three and i know, i know. i deserve more.