Submission isn't all about doing what you want. Gasp and shudder, imagine that?
And there are times I do things I don't want too and the feeling afterwards is every bit worth the experience. Then there are times when the feeling afterwards is just...Not.
Sometimes we are the closer for it. Those times are usually after something intense.
Ironically, the times I feel distant afterwards are after those benign experiences I didn't want to have. Little things that aren't really a big deal at all.
And I retreat back into the tattered remains of my shell, wrapping it around me like a ragged little blanket.
It's those times when I resent all the rents and holes in my shell, the massive breaches in my walls, the unlocked doors that no longer close.
So I try to start repairing my little shell. Piece by piece I begin attempting to patch it back together.
The thing is...He's already inside. He tears at my walls from the inside out, mercilessly ripping pieces off my shroud of protection, leaving me grasping desperately at it's tattered remains.
Why do I still, after all these years, feel so attached to my inner fortress of solitude?
It's not as if I really want to be here...
But sometimes still, I find myself retreating. Amongst the dusty boxes and locked doors. Of my lonely, ragged little fortress.