Passion and Pain

I met the sunkissed him in a late autumn afternoon, breezes playing with his bleached golden locks and the man bun; lost in music.

He was kinda natural calamity, a norwester, a disaster; I saw it coming, and hit me.

I touched him to see if he was for real.

His eyes, his hand holding mine fired up my universe, shattering everything I believed to be true all these years.

He was an eagle in the world of caged parrots.

And in a winter dusk our eyes met, even my pounding heart skipped a beat, my stomach continued the somersault.

Our lips locked in the cemetery as he tasted love from my mouth, his tongue mating mine.

I had fallen in love. I knew for sure. Perhaps he knew too.

Our love lived in stolen moments and kisses. And endless kisses.

Away from the world, on a spring afternoon, alone, together. Nervous us, sinking in each other. 

We knew Love. 

He dropped soft kisses on my lips and my cheeks, holding me close, so close even air couldn't pass through, it felt an adrenaline rush in me, in no time I climbed over him, kissing him as wild as the restless sea and his fingers tracing me down the spine.

The passion sea that was hidden in me, I never knew it before. He made me surprise myself and find himself along. He kissed my skin clothing every bit with his love, mapping allover. I felt the throb, I felt him grow and burst inside of me. 

We didn't stop until we both fell resting on one another, our bare skin jewelled with marks of love, bruises and bleeding nail scratches.

We.Us.

But Time.

Then stroke reality. Different life, difficult life. Different time, difficult time. And the distance. Promises were made and broken. Damaged our serenity, our sensory organs and ruining us yet our souls met in some other world, lived, laughed, loved, cried, Together. But our mortals weighed more, making us fall apart.

He left to save himself.

I tried to love him but he...

I try to love him but he refuses to be loved.

He breaks me. It pains. It pains like tearing my heart apart and I'm living.

He breaks my spirits and I see his eyes glow making music.

My love, he is bipolar.

His heart is a gem, his body is made of gold.

There are days when he would talk, then there are days any trigger would set him off, he wouldn't see, talk or respond.

And I read him, I watch him suffer, he never says he loves me. And I question myself, the love in him is dead already? Why couldn't I kill mine? There I lie dead in him.

He is selfish, he is mean, he disgusts me at times still I chase him down. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. Hate that spells love, he knows I love him, and it breaks me again. He isn't selfish, he isn't mean, but... Loving him is not easy, yet knowing this, I love him more, and more and more...

Passion and pain have united in me. Whatever is broken inside me wakes up at the nocturnal hours and cries for him; and I keep cradling, putting all the pieces together, I wrap my arms round my chest that experiences a physical emotion. I try n rock it to sleep, "He isn't coming back. You died in him."