The reasons why...

I do those things I do.

• A firm hand under my jaw, tilting it up, directing my gaze. Ah, to be so gently, wonderfully, undeniably controlled...
• Having tears pulled out of me- being told I look beautiful when I cry- believing it.
• Face pressed into leather, knees into concrete: warm soft, cold hard, safe and very dangerous.
• Beast, beastly, other, thing. Raw, impulsive, joyful movement. Chasing scent, sound, flash of colour without the burden of interpretation.
• A fist in my hair, tugging, lifting, hands shoving at my shoulders, being kicked- and letting my body drop, hang, flow with the fierce movement.
• Still, and flat- a thing, but a different sort of thing to the beast- more of an object, really. Perfect stillness, measured breath, being just the best table I can be. A quiet joy at doing something so simple, so completely.
• Harsh words with the power of fists behind them, believing, opening up to it: yes.

Apparently I'm in a list mood lately.