notes app of a teenage girl

drunk on her

A/N:
don't read this if you're very religious.

i thought my elbows would fail me. she looked like a nymph, a goddess, and I looked like a peasant who didn't pray enough. her curves were carved by the most delicate hands, fragile crystal made out of the strongest glass to ever exist. the kind of glass on which you only see scars and scratches if put against a source of light. the one that's tenacious, that perseveres, despite your trembling hands.

the wine was red and warm, the bottle opened on the table.
i drank. she drank.
it was forbidden and glorious, it felt royal and stained, corrupted and so, so divine.

i started to question if heaven is real. and if so, how could it be better than this?
and how come did all the people say to me as a young girl that sin is a bad thing when it feels like this? it's addictive, intoxicating and yes, it bruises.
it bruises like love bites. the ones her lips love so much to leave on me. the ones she's so proud to see and i even gain a shy smile and rosy cheeks on her face when she does so.
how come can such an adorable thing like her be such a condemn?

and just by looking at her, I was redempting all my sins and recommitting them over and over again with her name on my mouth.

she knew she had my heart in her hands and she loved it. she played with it like you play with a child: marvelled and careful. she knew she could trap my breath in her fist if the world's laws allowed her to. she knew she's the fuel to all of my thoughts, she knew she's my Achilles's heel and my strongest wish.

oh, I could see it so well in her eyes. the way they widened. the way we both worship the devil in disguise but what even is devil if not the very first angel thrown out of heaven because he dared want more?