I'm in love with a man devoted to a promise he made himself; To never look at a woman with affection ever again. He was in a sweet high school romance when the girl he loved disappeared on him telling him, she may be back. Or she might not. Years later he gets a letter from that girl saying, "Dear Love, today's the day that I will die. You won't know what and you won't know how, but you will know I still love you. Just know it will be me to open your palm and put my heart in it."
I'm like the villain in every love story, the one who wants to take the heart of a man's who already sealed it away. I can't help temptation. I want his eyes to be open to me rather than just wasting those beautiful marbles on nothing. I want to tell him, "I can make you love again." He had his heart stained with another woman's scent as bad as I'm making her sound, they met before we did. Their feelings were tied in a knot that no one could have ever break apart.
No matter how many times I were to take my stockings off slowly in front of him his face still seemed lifeless. My attempts have failed. What was it that this woman had that I was not capable of getting? I got annoying to him and I understand the fact that I was, but I kept trying. My mother told me no matter what I do whether it's bad or good I must persevere and go on with my actions. I sat down one day and asked him, "What was your love like?" He told me it was something I could never possibly understand.
I sat there with daggers in my heart and tears reaching the floor because I had known he feels that my feelings were childish. That I didn't think it through before I said it. That wasn't true. There's always a story for a home wrecking bitch in every story which as I appear to be. I'm not trying to be a sob story, but how dare he. How dare he underestimate my feelings. I am a grown women capable of understanding what love is and what love can be.
Love is living with the fact the man my heart desires is owned by a deceased woman, yet I still try to love him. Love is going home hurt because he can't love me back. Love is cruel. Love is wanting to help him while he's at his worst. Love is dealing with the fact that he will never ever look at me in a certain way, but me not wanting him to spend his life a lonely man. Love is taking care of him for nothing. Love can be one sided. Don't worry though, I don't expect anything from him.
"I don't know what you want from me," he says. He'll never understand that as little as he feels he is giving me, I feel lucky I'm getting everything I want. Except his heart that is. He tells me, "It will hurt loving me." My reply?
"I grew up learning that I was never a princess who can love a man that will directly love me back. Hurt is what I strive for and love is what I bleed. I'd lie if I told you I was never hurt. Bottom line is my heart is set, and you can warn me and tell me to love someone else, but I'll be real with you, I won't be happy. Call me selfish; go ahead. Maybe I'm just doing this to pleasure to myself, but love is love and I am not blind. I can make you love one day. As long as it takes because the fact that I'm willing will lead to my patience."
He sat there speechless and wordless because he no affection whatsoever. It did seem like a zero percent chance but I could attempt to change that. Yet he tells me, "I will never love you, someone like you, someone even near you. My heart has stopped." I sat there and smiled, "I am going to go on a trip and you will not find me, but I know you won't look for me and that's okay." I smiled as I walked away and my heart did too.
I came back within the next five years knowing this man was a joke. He was married off to a rich lady that could satisfy his financial needs and when we reunited, his face loss expression and froze. Shame and guilt hit his face for he rather not be with a woman like me, but to be with a woman he would also never love yet swarm himself with money hoping happiness out of that. I slapped him. Slapped him with the love and affection I mourned over. I told him "Are you happy?"
He simply replied, "I'm not capable of ever being happy."
As I got close up to his ear I had told him a story. About how in high school I had a love that was my everything, but I had to move and I had no way to support my brother and sister after my parents had died. I resorted to selling myself. But before that I had to write a letter. A letter to the boy waiting for me back home, after that I could never bravely face him again until I reached hope that perhaps he could forgive me. Or that he wouldn't know it's me and that I could start a fresh with him because who would want that girl. That disgusting, dirty, and filthy girl. Whose body was beaten up and full of scars. The body that was forcefully touched by another man she had not loved. Who would want that girl?
I opened his hand to reach his palm and drew a heart in it as I whispered,
"You won't know what and you won't know how, but you will know I still love you."