I believe that I am almost incapable of loving somebody who does not already worship me. Would you stay with the one who loves you, or go back to the one you love? To say that I am more of the former person, would not be literally self-praise of my own stupendous loyalty to the companionship I owe the person beside me, but rather I am the person who indulges in the comfort of being in the reaches of someone who would sacrifice more than they demand. The matter of convenience or a life without trouble is a simple and sorry way to live, but makes accepting and blending into the world at large, and the world under the microscope that we familiarize as our environment where we live this cherished life, easier and less painful. Kill, or be killed. Hurt, or be hurt. It was simple. I wanted neither. Natural instincts provides otherwise.
Her pain makes her beautiful, and she loves to lose control. I am not about to accept into my life the girl who is hungry for love, almost as if thirsting for blood. The flashy lights, podium and her combined, degenerating itself into a soulless atmosphere, shackling her, while her hands try to reach my heart. The façade drew me a little closer into her plight. She had seemed weightless in the room, enticing me to a few songs and drinks. Maybe more than a few drinks I suppose. I remember her hair was neatly done, with a simple bun to furnish her petite body. Her frail figure lay wasted on the bed. Her fatigued eyes were kindly heading home. Her hands disorderly flail around to turn off the lights, perhaps spending her last speck of energy to do so. I stood in the dark, with certain anticipation as the darkness hid the implosion of thoughts. It was thoughtcrime. She smelled of beer and cigarettes. I spoke kind words, in a kind and appropriate tone, as if comforting a child as she sleeps knowing she would not understand the meaning of those words being uttered but she responded with an eye lazily half-opened, smiled and reached her hands to stroke my face. Like those without sight, her fingers caressed my face, making out the contours and conjuring vivid pictures and images in the unlit room. I stuck to my part by remaining unfazed and unmoved. I only did as much as breathe. Unbeknownst to her, my thoughtcrime was ever-increasing. Or maybe she knew, and this is her way of resisting an imposition of my pre-meditated criminal intentions. If she demanded subtlety, I will oblige. She shed her top, revealing before me her bare shoulders. Her body was wrapped beneath the white covers reflecting the faint, gleaming streetlights piercing through the windows. I imagined her naked body curling submissively to my advances. It almost feels like I’m ganging on her; both my mind and body were swiftly advancing against her lowered defenses as I moved into position, taking a pull at the curtains before hiding under the soft covers lying next to her. I patted her head and played with her hair to gain her attention. Her hair was a little messed up now. She turned to look at me and said something in her native language. Even I could tell she was mumbling incomprehensible words should I have a decent command of the language. I wrapped my arms around her, even if it was against her will. The lack of courtesy to ask to do so was compensated by the slow, gentle movement as a gesture of kindness and respect. The night concluded as two atoms insufficient as a whole, combined to form a particle. This particle remains as a fragment of memories I cannot erase.
