Cancer

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 09:53:34

When I reveal that I'm a Cancer

, the first reaction is usually, "Oh, so you love your family, huh?"

I smile and remain noncommittal.

What is a family? Is it simply

having parents and children,

living under the same roof,

enough to constitute a family,

regardless of love?

I don't love my family,

but I long for one.

My dreams have always been shallow yet deeply hidden.

I always say I don't have anything I want to do,

no desired future,

but actually, I just want the kind of ordinary life that everyone seems to have:

a happy family.

Not about who plays the role best,

but about loving people coming together,

supporting each other through thick and thin.

As I've grown up, I have more excuses to avoid going home.

I don't want to hear the neighbors gossiping about how my dad's new girlfriend is someone else,

how my mom isn't even angry;

I don't want to hear my mom crying about arguing with my dad again,

how he went to another woman's house right in front of her.

Day after day,

my mom is the first to say, "Don't be angry,

he's still your dad."

Even though their love is twisted and messy,

they still hypocritically proclaim that

home is your eternal safe haven.

I still don't understand. Where did they find strength to

keep this family afloat despite constantly hitting rock bottom ? Before they collapsed, I kept seeking help from the outside world. I wanted a home of my own. When he held my hand and said he would give me a future, regardless of what my friends said about him not actually loving me, I still flew into the fire like a moth, thinking I could be reborn . I didn't want to be a phoenix; I just wanted to build my own nest, throwing myself into it without hesitation. I clung to him tightly, afraid that our future might just turn into a mirage. Sensitive, with a vivid imagination and rich emotions, but in other words, I'm suspicious, insecure, and prone to overthinking. I hate myself for this, but this is the Cancer I know. Cancer is my lifelong cancer. I embody all these traits in him— carefully translating every word he says, repeatedly scrutinizing its meaning. I'm always guessing what's in his heart, imagining how much he loves me or whether he doesn't, and then throwing myself into it with all my might. I love him, so much that I'm willing to give up myself, as long as he can belong to me completely. He will always be my first priority. I'm always thinking about how to satisfy him, buying him breakfast, cooking for him, showing him care and concern, and trying my best to give him whatever he needs. My love can be very Platonic; I'm willing to be a slut for him. I obediently lick every inch of his body that he enjoys being teased, and he occasionally moanes comfortably with his eyes closed. He is a king, existing like the sun, and irresistible like the revolution of the sun. I kneel between his legs, swallowing his hardness, tightly enveloping it with my wet mouth, gently licking it, from the base to the tip, carefully tracing it with the tip of my tongue. His fingertips graze my skin like a reward, and I tremble uncontrollably. His gentle touch ignites my desire, making me willing to burn and melt for him. He passionately removes all my clothes, and I lie naked before him . He leans down, making us press tightly together. He left kisses on my neck, deliberately kneading my breasts forcefully, then lightly biting my erect nipples with his tongue. I felt embarrassed by my own moans of pleasure; he always knew that the rougher he was, the stronger my reaction would be. I hooked my legs around his waist, and he smiled, then thrust into me hard the next second. He never slowed down, pushing us to our peak from the very beginning. When I lost control, he would stop kissing me and change positions, again and again, until I collapsed and begged for mercy. He liked the tighter, more intense feeling of being enveloped from behind, his penis moving rapidly in and out of my wet passage, the full, tight pleasure driving me almost insane. Then I obediently squatted between his legs, twisting my waist and swaying my hips without any restraint . Only then did he submit to me, driven mad by desire. Finally, I wrapped my legs around his waist, gripping his shoulders and moaning wildly. I loved his uncontrolled low moans as he climaxed, and we held each other tightly, reaching our climax. 　　　　　※ jkforum.net ｜ jkf Czech Forum I was still immersed in the satisfaction of being possessed by him when he fell asleep. I nestled contentedly into his arms, feeling like I had the whole world I wanted. I was planning my future with him— not necessarily a big house, but definitely a cat or dog. I imagined him wrapping his arms around me from behind while I prepared dinner, sweetly calling me "wife," and then we'd hold hands and take a walk together, peacefully growing old together. "Hey, did you know your boyfriend's been going in and out with that girl lately?" my friend finally couldn't hold back any longer. I stiffly replied, "Yes, I know, thank you." I didn't shed a single tear. Crying once or twice is sadness, but after a while, you won't waste your energy anymore, because it's despair.

Then, time and time again,

I heard more and more:

meals, pick-ups, trips.

He assured me he was just a regular colleague,

explaining excitedly word by word.

I remained expressionless,

trusting him without a shred of belief.

I knew he was hiding too many lies,

I simply understood,

yet I couldn't leave.

Everyone said he

only wanted to possess me, like a toy,

but how come when he said how much he loved me,

I became as obedient as a dog?

I truly, truly knew I should leave him.

But everyone talks about reason,

yet their actions are still controlled by emotions.

I remained suspicious and insecure,

unable to relinquish my overflowing feelings for him.

I tried so hard to escape home,

yet I still repeated the same tragedy.

Only when I grew up did I understand why my mother never seemed to wake up. Why

can't we leave someone who doesn't love us, someone who doesn't care about our happiness ? This kind of blind love is truly tragic. "Let's break up." That day, I surprisingly didn't have many emotions, no attempts to salvage the relationship, no arguments. He seemed to have been waiting for this moment. We quietly embraced and then parted. Within a day or two, less than a week, I began to break down. My bravado lasted only a few nights; I couldn't imagine a future without him. "Can we meet? Just for dinner and a stroll through the night market," I texted him, my hysterical world instantly piecing itself back together when I received his reply. Just a simple "Okay," and the air no longer felt unbearably thin. After dinner, we didn't buy the dorayaki I wanted, nor did we take the subway back. Lying in our once intimately familiar bed, the scent now completely foreign, I felt a sense of loss as I smelled his soft, fragrant blankets. Then his weight fell entirely on me, his skilled kisses on my neck, his large hands caressing my much thinner breasts. I hesitated, resisting. He continued his passionate advances; my struggles were merely for show. My body had already reacted the moment I saw him. Naked, I tried to read his eyes, but I couldn't see even a fraction of his love. Before he entered me, I almost cried and begged for mercy, afraid of the indifference that might appear in his eyes afterward. He retreated, a frustrated smirk on his face, and I instinctively trapped him with my legs. He kissed me passionately, no longer holding back, and hastily thrust his penis into my wet passage. Overcome with desire, I cast aside my initial hesitation and fear, feeling his slow, rhythmic movements inside me. I looked at him, but received no extra emotion. He quickly withdrew his penis and shoved it into my mouth, releasing all his desire. He was panting, his face full of guilt. I calmly picked up my clothes and put them on. "I'll take you to the MRT station," he said, his lips drooping, just like the expression he always wore when he felt guilty. "No need," I said, a slight smile playing on my lips as I turned and walked out of the room. I've always longed for a happy and fulfilling home. Waking up from this dream beside him, I thought of my cancer. My overwhelming love for him was also an incurable disease; I knew all the ailments, yet I was willingly and helplessly drawn to it. Would time be the cure? I don't know. At least I'm still trying to stop thinking about him every single second.

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