I Love, Love, Love Yuri!
I love, love, LOVE yuri!
I love yuri. I love it when a girl and a girl meet and their hands brush against each other. I love it when, in the middle of a daily life that once felt utterly ordinary, one of them suddenly realizes something. I love it when they agonize over how this is a forbidden thing they must never do, and yet are pulled by attraction all the same, drifting closer and closer.
Their gazes entwine. A subtle current flows between them. And the exchange of feeling born from that delicate gap—once crossed, there is no going back—is nothing short of a gourmet delicacy.
I loved it when obsession and ruin and hatred and irritation were all bound up in love and justified in its name. I loved one-sided love too, where only one of them ached so poignantly. And I loved it when they loved each other but buried that feeling deep inside, terrified of being found out—terrified of disgust, of rejection—while their relationship spun its wheels in place, going nowhere.
Scenes between two people so familiar with each other that they'd landed somewhere between love and friendship—just watching them made a foolish grin spill across my face. Pretty girls gathering together, laughing, clinging to each other, worrying over things. Wagging their tails here and there until they got caught and put firmly in their place. The girl who seemed so innocent grinding down the teeth that had always seemed so flawless... showing sides of themselves they could never show anyone else. Ah, what a heartwarming sight it was.
There was no need for the relationship to be limited to two, either. More was just as good. I loved three people each loving one another. I loved two of three loving the same one. I loved them being jealous of each other. I loved the objects of that jealousy falling in love with each other. Three people—no, even more than that—loving one another and each other: I could call that nothing short of perfect.
Special relationships went without saying. Hating each other's guts until love bloomed. One of them depending entirely on the other. Affection-starved dependence that leaned on everything, got refused, and broke down sobbing alone, mind shattering—that was, I could say, the absolute best. And if, on top of that, it turned out all of it was a dark, damp, sticky love that the other person had engineered from the very beginning...
Ha. All of it was a beautiful flower blooming from the mire.
...Truly, truly, truly. I could not help but love yuri endlessly.
Teacher and student. Big sister and little sister. Mother and daughter. Relationships that piled one more layer on top of depravity, on top of that forbidden fruit—they were so, so, SO delicious...! Everything about women loving women was just too, too good!
It's good. I really, really love yuri. I love it. Love isn't a strong enough word. I felt like I was going mad. I'd come to love it too, too, too, too much. I was losing my mind. I even came to love TS yuri. I love it when she still thinks of herself as a man, unconsciously wagging her tail here and there. I love it when she knows nothing and gets fussed over all over the place. I love it when she insists but I'm a man, pride wounded, until she gets pinned down, locked away, trembling and terrified, and finally realizes what she is—a female. Or, alternatively, I love it when they just love each other normally. I love it when she naturally has people wrapped around her finger. I love it when they hug each other in the name of friendship, laughing, having fun, folding their hands together and kissing!!! More yuri needs to bloom. More love. More, more, MORE pure-white love needs to blossom upward.
A girl and a girl. The simple fact that they liked each other—it was simply, purely fragrant.
Soft skin brushing against soft skin, ticklish and warm. Fingers interlacing, one over another. Hot breath mingling between them. Curve meeting curve to create yet another curve. Point meeting point, grazing past each other. Twisting and tangling together, wet and sticky, like slugs. All of it.
Ha. Really, truly. Truly.
...How could a genre this perfect even exist?
I love yuri. Even if I were born again, I'd eat my rice with yuri, shower in yuri, and brush my teeth with yuri.
I loved yuri.
I love yuri love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love!