He wants to cover her with his love like paint poured upon pages to compare mommy issues and have pain stained upon his chest in her handwriting (letters buried under dirt like seeds that may bear fruit)
But he has seen her face and he needs more
Last night In his room he caught himself masturbating he has constructed a sigil to the thought of that rests upon an altar seeing her smile consisting of the few objects that an ache in the loins were lucky enough to have been touched caused by the notion of hearing by her sea foam fingers her laugh (held between her hands like the last shed of hope in a prayer) He begs for her ghosts to haunt him A candle burned at the base his love drips wax towards the floor her ceremonial ring covering the deck of cards of protective salt designed by the greatest beastof all loneliness staining the sheets In a dream the jism in the void he feels her hands caress although our hero knows loneliness well him like a SAW and his actions are not a product of that his blood dripping particular part of life down into rosy He would have been fine pools of redemption fine had he not met her that disastrous evening The protagonist wakes up content in the constraints of the needles point and self indulgence
He is building memories on foundations made of smoke and ash he was graced by her presence for less than a moment yet his heart is yearning for her burning towards her
The protagonist finds himself aching at the thought of her and that is all she really is to him a thought