A mellow, warm feeling of comfort blankets me, reassuring me that I’m ok the way I am. She loves me the way I am and it gives me tremendous ease. She expects nothing of me, asks nothing of me.
She gives me absolute freedom to do as I wish. At the same time she fills me. She fulfills me. She gives me everything that I need and I therefore need nothing else. No drugs, no sweets, nothing.
I am fulfilled. The very definition of being free. Free from the superfluous need for consumption, free from the craving of false fulfillment.
The emptiness inside me is now filled by her, rendering all other ingestion futile. I am a glass that is now filled by her.
Adding even another drop to a full glass is absolute folly because it will spill.
All the other substances that used to fill my emptiness are now in vain because she fills me and there simply isn’t any space left.
She thus also frees me from the need of absorbing other things that never benefitted me anyway. She makes me free.
Our love is pure. We find no fault in eachother. She takes all my imperfections and turns them into assets, takes my insecurities and crushes them under her gentle caresses.
She takes my mind and lays it to rest upon a bed of roses, fragrant and smooth and smiles at me that smile that men kill for, absolutely freely.
All I wish in this moment is for her happiness to be absolute, like my own.