The words he speaks are simple, some may say minimal, but I say just enough. He is not much of a speaker, nor who I thought I would see myself with. Complete Polar Opposites, Fear is within me. What if? Is such a scary phrase how about -It will be, It is, I am, He is. He is wonderful, he is handsome, he will like me. I am beautiful, I am unique, I am lovely. A little boost of confidence, I am worth it he is worth it. Differences, among two, bring us together? Is there something wrong with being weird, or not the norm, or it is insignificant. It is not up to us to decide whether we are worthy of each other's company, but we are all worthy of the human affection. I am not saying it is love, or that I am in love but I would like to think in the future I will be. Maybe this is a step in the right direction. Forget those who have wronged you, let go and let your gaurd down. Release your barriers let your heart pump and blood flow, I deserve happiness, and a chance at love. Even if it is not with him I will not have any regrets. I will be myself because thats all I can be and all I can offer. I take a step back to evaluate my past, I take another forward with this acceptance and another with alliviating my anxieties. Grant me release with two steps forward.
You just want to be able to find the love that you most desire, is it not one’s Achilles heel. People say disposition, is the definition of love, but maybe it doesn’t have to be. Love? A resultant, an attribute, or nothing more than an illusion. Is it not in our human nature to have the instinct to find a companion? To be a sociable creature. This is an impossible task, for there is no existence, no chemistry, no heart beat. It is as cold as the solid ice beneath my feet in mid winter. There is no warmth in my touch, I persist with the touch in the depth of night, and feel nothing. I feel nothing in my heart, no touch upon my skin. Cornered and starved, half beaten, inches away from death, the clock calls and whisks my soul away. As black and dark as the feathers upon a raven’s back. The blood does not flush through my veins, the blue is stricken upon my body as if cold, as if dead but still living. Trapped in this life, trapped in this love? Trapped in my own lust. If he were to kiss me, I could not feel it, I am immune to love, immune to your charm and touch. I am nothing more than a wretched woman, mute, deaf and defenseless. The public ostracizes me, I am stoned to death, the out casted widow, her only love died a long time ago. They spit on her, make her bleed, make her feel, feel more than just pain but remorse. For she came alive when she died, born into light, flesh and blood from a once known corpse. The body has resurrected and burst into love.
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