By Alex Greenspoon
Edited by Ashley Yeung and Alloe Mak

I’m sick of begging and I’m sick of trying. If I am an aching pain, I crave to be mended. I’m grateful for the ache rather than the stab, but I can’t wait to be healed. Does that make me ungrateful? Am I asking for too much? I want to stain white walls with my adoration for you. I will paint and cover them with the pink of my loving innocence—just ignore the red of my lustful anxieties. Please—as I crave for you, as I rip apart my hunger and tell myself it isn’t real—reply in disagreement. 

It is a blessing to know that you would. You tell me it’s okay and that I’m not crazy, but my ardency is what drives me. I am so used to having excessive needs that result in a plea for recognition. Please, hold my hand while I cry to you about how I feel like I can’t feel. I am the complex being you crave. For, I know that if you wanted to, you’d leave. It confuses me that you haven’t. You want to be here because you want me.

 I want you. I want your every movement and breath. I want to smell you as you fall asleep, and kiss you when you wake up. 

Kiss me with the passion of a painter drenched in their work. Kiss me with devotion as your fingertips press onto my waist. 

I am no longer the beggar at the foot of a throne because of you. Instead, every time I kneel, you tell me to sit back on the chair next to yours. Oh, my love, we are peasants to the Gods above us but that will not change my devotion to you. I am eager to be longed for. I compete with your relationship with G-d because He answers your prayers how I want you to answer mine. Is it not disconcerting to hear my cries when you are the only pacifier? You prove your adherence, yet my ego acts as a blockade. If only I could treat myself the way you do, I would be full of adoration and love. 

Je te vois comme la femme qui peut me ressusciter si je suis empoisonné par mes expressions d’une gueuse. Dites à moi de chuchoter, car cet amour n’est pas éphémère. Je t’aime et tu m’aimes. Tu as déposé un baiser sur mes mains et je ne peux pas oublier la sensation. Tu m’es entiche chaque fois que tu me rappelles que nos amours est la tendresse que j’ai toujours eu soif de. ¹

1.  I see you as the woman who can resuscitate me if I was poisoned by the expressions of a beggar. Tell me to be quiet because this love is not ephemeral. I love you and you love me. You left a kiss on my hands and I can’t forget the sensation. You make me infatuated each time you remind me that our love is the tenderness that I always thirsted for. 
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