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The days pass, and the longing grows. It’s a longing for the communal, a longing to find belonging. The longing builds walls, no soft walls but walls of rock. Of hard rock with hard shells. Inside the rocks, there are memories. Hidden. The rocks grow and become bigger, lying there on the surface. My longing turns and hits a rock. A rock that holds my security. I slowly crawl closer. The rock stays in its place, not moving. It doesn’t fear me. It is part of me. I am addressing it directly. My steps are smooth and controlled. I know exactly where I put my paws—putting them soft and steady onto the wet that surrounds us. The closer I come, the smaller you look. I gain trust. I gain lust. My organs are swelling. My gut is moving. My senses are strong. You focus on me, forget the others. You feel my strength, the lust that arises, and you devote yourself under me.