WHERE WE REALIZE SEX IS REALLY OUR OWN.

Perhaps as we fish around our lived neighborhoods for common cuts of people, we find a suitable face, an appropriating body to link to. What is this? Dessertion of ourselves? Escaping to join someone else's world through putting skin to skin, flesh into flesh. This is called "fucking."

And then they leave. You leave. These bodies part ways, but then it happens again, now it's someone different. Freshly shaved pubic hair. Your breasts are different to him. His chest wider than the previous man. This happens and it goes. You leave. They leave.

On again. New person. New body cavity, new apendage. Then over and out.

At the end of the day, today, you look back and count (whispered, of course) and you think, "not so bad. It's a normal amount." The thing is, you carry this with you. This is not the benefit of experience, it is the detriment of the empty temple.

If on your death bed no one loves you perhaps it's because you never loved anyone enough to stay away, and wait. Your future started when you were born, and if you never dreamed of a unique love for yourself, you never worked for it, it never came. You're left with people, names that lasted awhile, but never dug deep into your heart and life. Don't just take what is in your arm's reach, this is not a standard bearing deserving of anyone.

It is better to have a perfect bubble than a fractured home. Protect what you have when all you have is yourself.