You allow me to call you darling and beloved, lovely and dearest. Those are safe, generic terms. But the other names? The ones I would speak in the dead of the night, in the heat of our moment? Those you do not wish to hear. You fear the burden and implication of their truth. I cannot help but think them, though, and so silently I name you angel and master, mad king and damaged lover. You are my world, my reason, my entirety. Would it be so wrong to say such things to you? To tell you I am hollow, having surrendered my heart to you? To make you understand what glorious, terrible creature you are in my eyes? You are more addictive and thrilling and torturous than any drink, any drug, any night of illicit passion. Why deny the control I gladly relinquish to you? If you would but let me breathe even one of your forbidden names against your skin I know I can prove to you who and what you truly are.