It was a cruel addiction, his presence. Ofcourse she was attracted to his eyes, his deep eyes that had no trouble staring straight into her soul. His artsy hair, deep voice, muscular body, model approach to dressing, there was nothing about him that she didn’t like.
What she didn’t like was herself, how her heart choked her voice when she would try to talk. How she could feel her neck and her cheeks turning red when he even just looked at her. Everything she said seemed so wrong. But everything about him seemed so right.
She tried her best to be confident. To be forward and flirty, to say the right things, be in the right places, and dress in just the right way. She imagined, yes, she believed, this must be love.
Dating him was confidence. It was her identity, her strength, her world, her everything. She felt she had found herself. Found herself in him. The actions, words, time together proved she must be in love.
She always wanted more of him, of the drug he had to offer. She had no limits. Before the first date they were touching. It felt so good, it was the most right thing she had ever experienced. She felt she had been cautious, with their relationship defined, she gave it all. She didn’t feel like she was giving, she was taking what she wanted. She was madly, wildly, passionately in love. This had to be love.
Moving in together, a proposal, a nursery painted blue and soon a little sister, the house, a yard, a part time career. Her dreams had all come and passed. This was the life she chose, the life she wanted. She thought. She supposed she must love him. Things just change and that is life. That must be love.
His hair was speckled gray, his apparel a little apathetic, but his eyes were still deep and piercing. He leaned in to kiss her, only because of appearance to their company, and his presence lacked something she longed for. Was it, had it ever been love? It was empty. She was empty. Was it ever love?
Behind his shoulder, she caught a glance. She blushed and turned away. But her eyes returned and met his. A tailored suit, fresh haircut, and broad shoulders gave her a second glance. It was a torturing addiction to be in his presence. Was it, could it be, maybe she missed it the first time, maybe this was her chance at what she longed for? Maybe this could be love? She wanted so much to feel it again, to have it, play with it, and live it. She want so much to be and to give. She wanted love.
*I HATE to add a side note. I feel it distracts from interpretations and I hate that you are reading this now instead of being left with the “last line.” HOWEVER, I write so much personally that I wanted to emphasize that THIS WRITING IS NOT ABOUT ME. It is what I see over and over and over again everywhere I turn in women and men that do not know how to get and how to give love but it is the one thing they want more than anything. Humans were made to love and be loved. Love, what in the world are you? And where can this world find you?