The pleasure of fear saturated my heart and tipped out over my face as I sat on the multicoloured mat. I purposely conjured the thought of solitude again to feel that sweet pleasure in my heart. The way I would sit here in the dark without a disturbance from no one in truth filled my thirst for seclusion. For me, the greatest pleasure was not in the silence but in the sincerity. It was here that I was freed from my constant worry of unfaithfulness. I was guaranteed that my heart would not wonder to any mortal being silently aching for its praise or to any moneyed obtuse begging for a temporary relief. But, I would ache and I would beg. If fact, I would go extreme in my entreating which would eventually lead me to tears. But what were these tears? They defiantly were not tears of grief. No, for that was not possible. These were tears sopping out of a heart filled with pleasure of fear.
enjoyed reading this but it does feel a little dark