I’m in the process of writing an HD love story, and I have to say that it’s the most difficult story I’ve ever attempted to write.
Most of my days are spent searching for a home in my mind, and aching for the days when I felt “normal.” I’m the type of person who can be traditional and happy for days, and then all of the sudden, I’m scared to go outside, so it sit in my apartment with the shades pulled shut, hair disheveled, sitting in one spot all day, too anxious to move.
That’s when I write, and it’s a sweet salve to my wounds. I think this story will be beautiful, and I might be falling in love with the people I’ve created. Maybe that’s me falling in love with myself. I guess we’ll see:
“Our love runs deeper than the skin, deeper than anything they see, and it’s more than external, fleeting sensuality. Our souls mesh into one like it’s found its missing piece, and I’m so sure that through time, my love for her will only increase.
I’m stupid and plain, but she laughs at everything I say. I live a little more each time she smiles, and I think I might be fully alive someday. As long as she’s around to smile at anything, my heart will mend itself when I see she is healing. She doesn’t like her scars, but in them, I see history: the pain of her past is just a transparent accessory. And I love her, even when her tide is high. I’ll be her steady ground while I paint her a sunset sky.”