Wicked Passion

We had nothing in common but we saw eye to eye, he wasn’t what I expected but I made exceptions. How long did I expect all this to last? I had no idea. My emotions never dwindled but my mind spurred out of control yet I never succumbed to reasoning.

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Have you ever come across the word “desire” before? Or have you once been acquainted with the perilous felon called passion? I speak zero fairy tales, filled with damsels in the distress trapped in a glorious but rickety tower, hanging on a thin thread of hope, hope that came in form of a gallant prince. Frankly, our childhood and Disney channels have elucidated that scene quite enough. I am here to gossip about the enthralling reality.

Have you ever come across the word “desire” before? I asked earlier. Sexually attracted to someone? I naively thought so before I met him. Before I met him, my life was based solely on a fairy tale, sleeping beauty to be precise, and he would kiss me out of my unconscious state of rest. He was no prince but he was surely charming in different ways. He was not describable but I ascribed his whole being as an epitome of imperfection and beauty. He glowered at me most times but it was a just a gimmick to make me smile and it worked. My unruly search for wholeness in the fragmented pieces of my existence was slowly coming to an end and then I realized I had changed, I was awoken from my unconscious state and I wanted him.

Reality was crunchy and savory like my favorite brand of potato chips but I eventually got to the bottom of the bag and each piece of potato chip tasted different from the former. ”does he want me?” was written in purple and pink in my childish imagination. Then it happened. I needed him. I wanted his help to quench a fierce fire ravaging through the depths of soul but perhaps I was too lazy to figure out the cause of the fire. I couldn’t find an equilibrium between love and fleshy desire because it was my first time playing with these emotions. Going out for ice-cream, taking long evening strolls, sitting on the park bench whilst cuddling under the humid- barely lit night sky, listening to the music from the crickets and night birds was my definition of love but we did none of those. What were we then?

Have you once been acquainted with the perilous felon called passion? I ask again. Well, I have. She came one night and then she came again and again until I gave her the spare key for an easy access, she didn’t have to be a felon when it came to me but unknown to me, she kept stealing from me till I had nothing left. I became a pile of bones covered with succulent flesh and nothing else. The man I desired sang the song of passion and my waist swayed rhythmically to the beat. All day and all night I just wanted to hear his song and amidst all the desire and pleasure, I was losing myself, my very essence but I loved that man, I loved him. My soul was now his second abode.

I became unrecognizable but I loved where I was, as long as it was okay with him, it was okay with me. My friends conjectured my emotions to be one of obsession and not love but I countered it saying it was a healthy addiction. Most nights I slowly saw the light and the butterflies in my tummy quickly felt like angry honey bees in search of their missing honey but the image of the one I desired surfaced and that door was shut close. He blessed me with pleasure that left me numb afterwards, he would kiss me softly and whisper in my ears how much he loved me and those words echoed loudly in my head for days.

We had nothing in common but we saw eye to eye, he wasn’t what I expected but I made exceptions. How long did I expect all this to last? I had no idea. My emotions never dwindled but my mind spurred out of control yet I never succumbed to reasoning. I wanted to stop and I wished I could stop but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. I looked at the skies seeking redemption but the sky looked down on me and whispered, “No redemption”.

Happily ever after was written at the end of every fairytale I had ever read while growing up and my story was far from that.

 

Responses

  1. CeeCee
    Nice write-up……
    I wasn’t just acquainted with the Perilous felon called “passion”. I lived and breathed her. It was awesome and deadly at the same time. But then, what’s life if you haven’t experienced that burning passion, at least once?

    “They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a “good love is one that casts you into the wind, set you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can’t stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch!” I say that’s a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!” ― C. J

  2. Girl
    This resonated loudly with me.
    Aptly reflected the state I’m in currently… You want to leave, but he somehow cues in on that reels you in and you’re mush once again. Play clay easily moulded in its hands to the form it desires…
    This love that has no fairy tale ending… Where does it lead?
  3. Ale_Xander
    We were friends the best of friends but not to our knowledge yet exactly.
    You knew me even before I could know myself.
    You showed me what it was like to have a preference that fits my very own existence.
    You loved me for the both of us.
    My lips against yours was supposed to taste like forbidden fruit, becos I had already bitten off the fruits of the trees around you.
    My friends where your friends and they won’t concur.
    Yet, every breathe exchanged between our urgent mouth tasted limitless.
    Oh the endless possibilities of loving her!
    Boundary lines melted the moment your ardent skin pleaded with me to say yes!
    “Yes” was the only reply my flesh could utter.
    The sound of your voice and to sweet taste of your lips would fill my awareness until the hour we inhale the same moist breath.
    The story of a time when strangers became close friends, and close friends became lovers.
    And you became a passenger on my journey.
    Your entrance and exist a glorious mark on my voyage.

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