It is a cold afternoon, the breeze is strong and the temperature low. I flip open a book in an attempt to make myself a better person.
A self-help book.
My eyes wander, my thoughts linger as I attempt to make sense of what I am reading. Every word, rising high above the page it is being printed on, carasses me as I absorb as best I can. I know that nothing but the best will be enough. The more I take, the more I feel, the waves of pleasure as I take in all there is to offer.
The throbbing red desire of ever willingness to give, parades endlessly on the innocent white pages. I lick my lips in anticipation at reaching the end, the climax of knowing what I have achieved, is attained with you in mind. With every heated turning of the pages, it serves to remind me of the ultimate prize - the look of joy and love on your face.
Closing in on the final pages, the excitement is unbearable. I am finally unravelling the state of inertia I have put myself into.
And as I slam the cover of the book in triumph and heated adrenelin, all I see is the white on the pages of my self-help book.
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