Perfect girl

He lay on his back and stared at the sky. A glittering veil was covering the black. The moon was shining brightly; not whole yet. He felt the same, not whole. He had met his twin flame. He had loved her; made love to her. And then, then he had pushed her away. Dealing with those emotions was too complicated. And he was not a complicated man. He just knew that being with her felt like destroying himself. Being without her felt like missing a part of his soul. Her presence scared him. Almost as much as the knowledge that the sky is infinite and time is finite. He couldn’t admit that he was running away from her. It was easier to manipulate her into thinking that she was pushing him away. The truth was, he was missing her. He was missing the way she made his soul lighter and his thoughts less heavy. He missed how she inspired his work, and the sex. Yes, he missed how it felt to fill her out. He had had many girls and women in his life. They had never felt like her on his skin. Her kisses were like magic, her orgasms were bliss, his own release couldn’t be compared to anything he had ever experienced in bed. An intimacy that spread onto many levels connected them. From the moment they had first spoken, something had clicked. Profoundly. And now he was running away. He had an ugly soul, an empty heart, heavy thoughts. Others had described him that way. And he couldn’t deny it. But she didn’t care. She seemed to like all the facets of him. The good and the bad. And he was not prepared for that. He was not prepared to open himself to her, to let her see who he was. Who he is. Bare. Nowhere to hide his imperfections. He had always wanted to be seen, and to be able to be himself without getting strange looks. Now that he had met someone comfortable and sure enough of themselves to accept him for who he was, and he couldn’t handle it.

He slapped the grass next to him in frustration. Since when was he such a coward? Since when was he lamenting to have no one to love him, knowing full well that she was there. Was he so used to being hurt and rejected that being wanted and accepted scared him? That woman. She was addictive. Always on his mind. There was that fear of going back to her and letting her see his vulnerable side. There was that irrational panic that she could use it against him.

Until now, she never had. She had proven that she was trustworthy. He hated how much she completed him. He loved it too.

A raindrop landed on his forehead breaking his thoughts. From the porch his wife called him to get out of the rain, and go inside. He grunted a response and got off the lawn just in time, before the light dribble became a rainstorm. Minutes ago he had stared at the clear night sky. He had been sunken so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the clouds hiding the stars. Standing on the porch, he kept looking into the dark. She was his dark. Behind him, his wife was standing with a dishtowel. She was beautiful. He loved her. But she didn’t understand. She was not the one to fill that empty space in his heart. She was not the one who knew every secret, nothing withheld. But she was enough. She had to be. He took a quick look at his phone. He had no messages but he liked to see and know that she was online. Her profile picture was beautiful. For the moment, it was all he got from her. It was all he deserved. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her. Even if it meant leaving the safety of his family. After all, She was the one. His twin flame.

Another drunk letter to a stranger

Dear Stranger,

Another six week until we meet again. Am I allowed to admit that I am scared shitless? What if you don’t like me anymore? And what if we will not meet in the end? Gosh… We haven’t spoken in weeks. How are we supposed to be able to see each other face to face. With our past standing between us? I am not the woman you think I am. I need your encouragement to see this through. You’ll be 45 in two weeks. You are a man who saw the world and lived two lives. Me, I am 24 and inexperienced in most parts of life. I don’t want to blame my past, but if you grow up the way I did… Ha… Who cares? Not you. Yeah… Those words hurt. You should care. You really should. It’s me we’re talking about. The one you’ll let slip through your fingers. And you will regret it for the rest of your life. I don’t want your love. I just want you to see me, the way I see you. I see through your bullshit although I am not visible at the moment for you. It’s my own choice. Fear and hope. Please forget me. Please don’t ever forget me. Six weeks. I want to put my nose against your neck and feel your breath against my skin. Your eyes on me. Your words, just for me. We are cowards. We will stand in the same room, wondering if the other is there or if the other is thinking about us, but we will not get in touch. We will lose the opportunity. Maybe the only one we’ve got. One chance. And the way I know us, we will blow it. Or maybe that’s just me, yeah, maybe that’s just me.

Where are you now? I haven’t seen nor heard anything from you in such a long time. Please be okay. Please don’t disappear on me. Please don’t forget me.

As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain, I will never forget you.

Still the most romantic thing I was ever told. I wish it was true.

Dear stranger, six more weeks. Do something. Court me. I will be yours, there’s no doubt about it. You just have to want me again. Please want me.

Gosh… I am pathetic, pleading and begging…

I will never send this letter your way. Doesn’t mean that I am not thinking these things.

Oh and in case you were wondering. I am well. Thank you for asking.

Lots of love,

C