Thursday, 12 March 2015


You always wanted to give up on love, you really wanted to. You gave yourself shrink worthy advice while facing the mirror, giving yourself reasons to move on, to leave him behind. You told yourself you would be better alone, or did you actually say you wanted to be alone. I mean I understand, after being with such an asshole you needed to say those words, those empty promises to yourself. You knew inside you were crumbling, bone crashing on top another, muscles melting into water. You strutted out that day both determined and afraid. Ready to be the new you, empowered and intelligent enough, enough not to go back to her former mistakes. But you were more afraid.
Maybe because your mistake was 6 feet, lean muscled, fine chiseled face structured, with extraordinary eyes that stripped you bare and made your strength buckle so easily. Your mistake was your first love and he did not even have to look at you for you to remember yourself, shy and ignorant while he ravaged you through pain to pleasure. Nights where he loved you senseless till each part of your body knew him well enough to respond, tingling when you sensed his presence in a room. Love making so passionate that you had accepted it was impossible getting over that.
You were always too intense, frightening in the way you wanted him, unashamed and sacrificial. Needing him even on nights he was busy needing another. You were too busy waiting for him to call to have a life, too busy making him happy to make yourself happy. Your friends tell you no man can live up to the one who lives in your head, but you found him, only that he did not find you, you were there but he wasn't. You wanted him around so you closed your mouth more, never complained when he treated you less than the woman that you are. You settled on being soft and understanding, or foolish, isn't that the word for it? You wanted to be prettier like the girls he paid more attention to, tried putting on some make up, saving up money for that soft full weave with bouncy curls. You fantasied his fingers running through those curls while he fucked you. But you only lost him and yourself. You could not make him love you, you built a home full of memories with him, Memories where he was someone else, loving you like he should, before everything changed. Memories that made the thought of leaving unbearable.


  1. Whew! It didn't end as a sigh of capitulation. Or did it?

    Nice build up by the way.

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