Oh, jebus, Tep. You're trying to kill me...

Okay, very deep breath. This one is very hard to write.
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Heaven is the gentleness. The security. The way he rocks me. It is, "Quit your job. Follow your dreams. I'm here," and "Go to sleep, baby," at 2AM, face still wet from nightmare tears. Heaven is knowing I never have to doubt or distrust or second-guess.

Hell is 200 days a year by myself. Never having a date to a wedding. Loneliness. It is, "So where is he this week?" and not knowing the answer. It is sleeping diagonally in the bed and listing my mother as my first emergency contact. Hell is knowing the heaven may not be enough.

Kristin. So powerful. I literally gulped, trying to respond.

Thanks Cindy. I'm crying a little, to tell you the truth. Needed to be written, though.

Kristin, I know. Deep breath of my own, over here, recovering one of the more important memories I'd misplaced, that first time together, that first kiss:

Bliss/Burn

The lock of eyes, binding, yours to mine. This moment is inevitable; you knew it before I did, because you saw me first.

Recognition takes me hostage, places me at your side, in your arms, in your bed, places you in me. I'm seventeen. Lip belly breast and speaking souls, this is the best heaven holds. My tongue samples your scarred places, trying to take your damage as my own. Heaven is all about strength shared.

Later, as you sleep, I stare at the walls of a bedroom that will never be fully mine, a man I somehow know I'm not meant to save or keep.

Hell? Is all about being lost.

FYI: I made one small amendment to the challenge, and so peoples don't have to scroll back, here it is:

You don't necessarily need to take the "and" literally -- it could also be "heaven OR hell." As always, up to all y'all.

Kristin, Deb -- those are so. fucking. powerful.

Wow. Kristin, Deb, way to start off. Both of those gave me a lump in my throat.

Beautifully, honestly written, both of them.

Kristin's just about broke me in half.

Heaven/Hell

I have a note I saved, proof against the revisionist historians. Mother's handwriting says, "We may be a little late. There's dinner in the refrigerator." Dad's says, "Fuck you."

At least your father never hit me.

No, the broken wrist and the cracked ribs came from grabbing and shoving.

We had so much fun playing Parcheesi with Dad.

You used to scream at each other at the top of your lungs. He would curse. You would yell, "I wish you were dead."

This was your Dad's birthday. I wish he was here.

You can't get to heaven by denying hell.

God DAYUM, Ginger.

Just - wow.

This category is going to literally blow the walls apart, isn't it?