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.