I lay next to Him. His hands and eyes roam over my body. I'm shaking with something that resembles fear - trepidation, maybe? It's not fear, exactly. It is more the sense of being overwhelmed, consumed by his eyes and vulnerable to his teeth.
I never know where we are going from one moment to the next. I often have the feeling of running with my eyes closed. I might fall or run headlong into something, but I must keep running, faster and faster as I can hear his footfalls behind me.
The moments get scarier, each moment carrying its own special sense of terror and challenge. I keep moving forward. Every once in a while I have a moment when I am not hurtling forward in the darkness. I can shade my eyes with my hand and look behind me. I can see where I have come from, that unfamiliar wilderness that was once my home.
The path I have traveled is littered with my limits. I don't recall passing them, surmounting them, exactly. I can't remember a time when those limits were in place. I can't imagine when there were things that I wouldn't do for him. I don't know what those things once were, or why I let go of them, or when. When I turn back to the path, I can't see any limits up ahead.
I lay there next to Him. I have a tremendous sense of foreboding, like I have used up my last excuse and tonight will be the night when that final limit is breached. I shake as he holds me tight to his body. I have forgotten what that final limit was even supposed to be. It has melted away. I have nothing left to hold between us.