Tattered faeries' wings..

Time:	10:57 am.
Mood:	contemplative.

Borderline Perfection

Heel. Toe. Strut. Heel. Toe. Strut. She slinked down the catwalk. Cool. Calm. Collected. Condescending. Pause. Pose. Pretend. Pretty. She turned back and floated down the narrow platform of shallow thoughts and insecurity. So beautiful. So pretty. You could see ~~her~~ his bones through the transparent, shimmering shirt. ~~Her~~ his ribs, exposed, bare, naked, beautifulohsobeautiful. She lifted the remote and turned the television off without looking. She could not tear ~~her~~ his eyes away from the screen. She looked down at ~~her~~ himself, and frowned. No. Not pretty. Not like the models on tv. Never pretty enough. My ~~breasts~~ biceps aren’t big enough. You cannot see my ribs hiding beneath all this horrible, disgusting fat. All the other ~~girls~~ ~~guys~~ people tease me. They are all so beautiful and I am not.

She turns towards the window, glancing out over the tops of buildings at the tiny (beautiful) people walking past. Each more perfect than the last, and ~~her~~ him less perfect than them all. How did they all get to be so thin? She blamed it on a lack of self-control that she weighed so much. They told him they were deluded, they were crazy, they were all so fucking perfect. She moved to ~~her~~ his feet; tiny, soundless steps thundering up the corridor. The shuddering squeak of fat. She looks up from behind the counter.

“You should be in bed. You’re ill.”
“No, I’m not”, she refutes. A frown is the only reply.
“Is you machine empty? It may need refilling shortly…”
“NO! I’m fine!” She yells. The tube scratches the back of ~~her~~ his sore throat; the cold feeling of enforced fat.

Borderline perfection.

“I’ll have the doctor come down to see you. Go back to bed.”
She glares and turns, the echoing creaks following back to ~~her~~ his room, a naso-gastric tube tape limply to ~~her~~ his face.

Heel. Toe. Strut.

Comments: 19 ++ Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die

Take him and cut him out in little stars.

Time:	9:54 am.
Mood:	crushed.

Due to This entry of

quaesumus, several of you will be deleted from my list.

Because you may not understand the relevance, I'll give you a brief introduction.

quaesumus was my Dom. I was his submissive. We had relationship conflicts, and unknowingly I opened my heart to fall for two others aswell.

is_it_mine and

pikachu_inc. I pledged myself to

is_it_mine before I was ready, and he let me go until after

quaesumus had come to Australia. We had not met. He was here between the 12-19th of Jan. Please note the date on the log from the above link. I had not decided who or what I wanted for a relationship, so I was not committed to giving myself to either of the three guys who held their hearts out to me. I waited. I thought.

pikachu_inc and

is_it_mine are best friends. Known each other longer than I've been alive.

quaesumus and I had a fairly close relationship when things were working well. If we hadn't, he wouldn't have chosen to fly half-way around the world just to meet me.

I decided what and who I wanted on the 27th. The evening of the 26th, in the US, where

quaesumus lives. Take a moment and note the date of his departure from Australia (the 19th), the date I decided (the 26th, for him), and the number of days before I decided that such the log was made.

*pause*

It had not even been a week for him to wait for my response. He knew of the circumstance, had pledged his love for me and said he would give me time to work out what I wanted. He did not want me to regret a hasty decision.

I'm not sure which hurts more, really. The fact he was pledging his love for me and banging some other chick, or that he Dommed her. Submitting to

quaesumus was quite possibly the defining point of trust in our relationship. It wasn't just physical submission, but emotional as well. I did not want to take medication, but he told me to and I would. I did not want to go eat dinner, but he told me to, and I would. If he told me I was pretty, I'd believe him. If he told me I was his angel, I'd believe him. The fact it was a random girl whose submission meant little to him makes me wonder if mine was the same way. submission was the greatest gift I could give my Master, and if that isn't enough, I don't know what is.

Some of you will be informed of a new livejournal. Some will not. I've had my trust and my protective barriers so sharply dashed against the rocks that I don't know whether I should be telling anyone, but I will. I know some of you will not hurt me. I know some of you might. It's the 'might' I can't deal with right now.

For those of you I won't talk to in a long while, good luck.

Rori

Comments: Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die

Take him and cut him out in little stars.