Being vulnerable…

In this day and age, masks seem to be second nature; an answer to shielding the heart from the thorns of life.

People shed their clothes and slip between sheets with others faster than they’d be willing to shed their inhibitions and whisper their fears into the darkness.

How does one then explain to another, what being vulnerable means ?
How does one confess without peeling off clothes or even speak, without letting go of the masks glued perfectly to the outline of one’s face ?

Worries and dreams, the kind that can only be traced out on parchments of skin when the darkest of corners are wrapped in shadows, need to be heard. There’s only so many times you can press your lips against someone else’s and silence their voice because you’d much rather be lost in the desires of the body than nurture the pounding of your heart.

The world is befuddling.

Cheeks don’t feel the warmth of blush when hungry eyes are memorising every curve and dip in your body but voices do hitch and dry when  wishing to explain who you are and what tales make up the veins of your life.

I wish I could cup your face in my hands and breathe my story into mists of stardust while you snuff out my fears like flames from candle wicks.
While I sheds tears of ink, chapters of my life rolling down wet cheeks, you wipe them away with thumbs ready to create blank slates.

You’d nestle me in your arms, and as I press my face close to yours, I’d inhale the fears you hides so well and read the scrolls caged shut in your eyes. I’d hear the thoughts, the ones shrieking inside you, and I’d do my best to sing the nightmares to sleep. As fingers trace the fading scars on your skin, I’d trail hope down every muscle, to ensure there is spring, not autumn.

You’ll smile, teeth clenched in pain and I’d cut my skin open on the clenched jaw that has silently accepted injustice far too many times and the dew drops of scarlet would enrich this entwined tale with the promise of something new, something better.


The intoxicating delight that comes from the unknown, the rush of adrenaline from anxiousness and the headiness from being wary of the unexpected, must needs wait.

For we’re not prepared to be vulnerable just yet.

Till then, we’ll just muster the courage to speak each other’s names in hushed voices, followed by ellipsis’s of unasked questions and unspoken statements. We’ll close our eyes, faces pressed so close, we might as well count every freckle, and hope to welcome these vulnerabilities in the infinity of the dream world.

Till then, we’ll just make do with enveloping each other in the warmth of sheets and sin.


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