Feeling so much yet so little

09.08.2025

I used to think I felt a lot. That my heart was like the flesh of a fruit, easily crushed, sliced and digested. And in a way, it is. But it also has skin, hard like bark, and impossible to peel. The only way to penetrate this core is with something sharp, and with force, yet even then one would need to apply the proper technique.

But once that is done, I am laid bare, I am open and offer myself like a bitch in heat rolling in the dirt, belly up and wet tongue hanging out. Then I am sensitive, and easily overcome.

Or at least, this is what I imagine it would feel like. I do not think I have ever truly ripped my heart's skin off, nor let anyone do so. Nothing really penetrates me. I am impregnable as a fortress, even though I show nothing of the walls I've erected.

There is something strangely humiliating, and incredibly erotic, about the thought of being known by someone else. Like taking your clothes off in front of a stranger, and looking them in the eyes as you stand there naked. I'm afraid of peeling it all off just to find out there is barely any flesh to feast on.

I surmise most people think me easy to read, and I do not wish to change that. I play my part. Because otherwise, they might all see just how little I allow myself to feel, in reality.