Clear Fluid Before Period

kiss

And she had said, while the night was already too late, she could kiss him without really knowing why, she would have probably wanted to do - without desire, it was a else, on the spot while seemed quite possible, accessible, she staggered a little, however. It was not away for there was still this feeling, wave, pushing it away, feeling that it was not a good idea, it would alter anything, it does not embrace the people like that, to appropriate them a little, without desire to suck a little, in itself, the dispossession of themselves - it was probably what she had already unwittingly really, or rather, knowing dimly, and scared to know.
She had changed, and very noticeable - perhaps this night she was finally forced to acknowledge it, away from her with a sort of fright, maybe she had finally different view, maybe she had finally seen that for she had shaped it, making up much more than itself, staggering, lost, drowned in alcohol-and nights. She had, since they knew each other, strangely blondi, thinner, until it becomes a form of evanescence, light, almost insubstantial, as if every moment of her heels too high she could stumble and dissolve she lost her coat, her shoes, her bags, she came home it without knowing how, she did not remember anything. She had become, since they knew by his own fault, therefore, a lightness untenable, dangerous.
Maybe she was forced to admit that night, or another, the following nights, at some point he had to go obviously, it was transformed. And it probably was not fully their fault, she was trained, she was driven there with her until he is no longer conceivable to renounce really to abstract nights when they laughed all eyes capsized.
Maybe that night Was it too late already, the very idea of kissing her, as having even more, sealing, somehow, his grip on her, give her body further, she had never thought of before, think for a moment was probably already do, some nights later, she had forgotten the idea fleeting desire even full ownership, almost violent, and no return - it was make her his work, his body image. It was the dispossession of no return. And probably a few nights later she had forgotten to embrace the idea, but that away also, no doubt she had forgotten that this could be their image, inconsequential - perhaps she had, at that moment, forgot herself, lost somewhere, the night was already too late - and then it was too later, traces of lipstick on his face, his hair disheveled, she had said things she did not understand, she had kissed her again, it was almost as if she kissed her same.