Search Results: end of earth

The love we feel is not some sappy fucking romance novel. Its real, its tangible. Its down to earth, its physical and its tactile. Its a hunger, a real, physical hunger, like discovering there is a new type of air you need to breath into your lungs to survive, and thats absolutely fucking terrifying to us. Because the thought that is always present, is oh fuck. What if i end up needing this girl and she's not there when i do? You could never understand what its like to be a man, to feel what we feel. The french call it la douleur exquise, the pain of loving someone you can never have, a longing for them left only to starve and rot. We become cold, and calloused, we have to tough it out, men don't cry. We just get scars. And when its gone, there's a part of us that longs for that connection still, wincing at the thought of it. At what we could have had, what we could have been. And we may just be reading into our own fantasies when see purity or innocence on the face of a giggling girl, a lightheartedness where our heart weighs heavy with the burden of manhood. When we see that, it warms our hearts, but we want nothing less than to fuck the living shit out of it. Because real men fuck. They have no place for tenderness left in their weary hearts, they have only this heavy burden that is lifted by a laugh or a smile. Lifted by the release of kinetic thrusts. You could never write something so vulnerable or honest. You go through the motions, but all you come up with is this romantic facade, with no more substance than the surface of a pond. You'll never truly see or know us, you will only ever see your own reflection in us. But maybe someday you'll find someone who knows that, and loves you anyway.