Guilt, because she still doesn’t know who I am, and I’ve just dug myself in deeper. Longing, because I miss her. I miss talking to her as me. Lust greater than I’ve ever known, because when we’re like this, it’s the only time she softens and changes and gives me an inch, and it’s a need that’s in my head just as much as my body. It keeps me on my toes. And something else growing that I don’t want to be there. Something that might make it very hard to leave her. And impossible to forget her.
