youth and nativity both contributed to allure me to him, he was dark, secretive and older (turn on for any teenage girl). He was a broken and lost man, and there is nothing more intoxicatingly attractive in the world. I yearned to fix him, to complete him; yet the sobering reality is his coldness absorbed me, I became consumed by his damming darkness and acquired an obscene obsession to releasing his pain.
He was never loving or compassionate and the concept of empathy, was one of which completely surpassed him. The mask remained firmly positioned throughout our whole charade of a relationship. Emotions always had to be suppressed, it was always just sex. Although always pleasurable and giving, consistently cold; I would trace the scars that littered his forearm like forbidden secrets, as his kisses burnt my lips like cigarettes, I still embrace and relish these moments with a sickening sense of nostalgia.
As I cut myself on the shards of his broken disposition, the overwhelming desperation to evoke feeling relinquished and all that remained were two numb people, desperately searching and seeking to feel something real. The day he left I fell, yet I didn’t hit the ground for the brutal truth is, I have been falling ever since, to this day I still yearn for his painful embrace, to be reunited with his beautifully damaged soul.