The world thinks not being able to see means I live in darkness. They’re wrong. The real darkness is the silence of this apartment, the fucking emptiness of a bed that only has one person in it. It’s not the physical act I’m craving tonight. It’s the weight of another body, the sound of a heartbeat under my ear, the way a chest rises and falls with breath that isn’t mine. I want to trace the scars on someone’s skin and have them trace mine, not as flaws, but as a map of how we’ve both survived. I want my head on your chest after you’ve fucked me senseless, when the only thing left is the smell of your sweat and my pussy on your cock. That’s the kind of sight I’m starving for. The kind you can only feel.