Shattered Dream

And that is the thing with anticipation, you tend to idealize what it could be, and in that, let your imagination run wild, only to find that reality is often cruel and never what we may have allowed our minds to create in lonely nights full of want.

That was what he was, idea, anticipation, dream, creation. Or I should say, that is what I made him. What he was, in reality was something so far from what I imagined. I wanted a storm, and found nothing but a sweet summers breeze. I wanted a tornado that would go through me and leave me devastated in its wake, but instead I found a calm wind that seemed to whisper taunting words, cruel laughter, in my ears. I wanted the earth to shake, the heavens to part, the waves to rise like tsunamis. I found none of that, and I was left wanting, so much, I often think it would have been better never to start.

After you have built a fire and made it burn hot, you can't just put it out with a sprinkle of water. It takes so much more than that, and yet, that is exactly what he did, just throw a sprinkle, and in that he made the fire burn hotter, almost as if he made the flames angry and in desire for revenge.

Such disappointment after so much expectation. Such wasted moments... and yet...

The Beast Inside

I understand certain mythological beasts now, for how can you go back to what you used to be after you've had the sweet taste of blood? To be clear, I have never tasted blood, but might as well have, the analogy is fitting. I have tasted pleasure, the sweet surrender of the body to the person of your desire; the wonderful feeling of climbing to the heavens in a magnificent frenzy. Who can ever want to come down to such a forsaken place after having been to heaven and seen the angels sing?

I have awoken a part of me I did not know existed. It is the untameable animal in me, the beast that always seeks for the next victim to have, to taste, to devour and to leave nothing of. I knew, no I imagined, not really knowing the risks I would take by allowing it to surface, and yet I did nothing to stop it, because a part of me wanted it so bad. The hunt, the thrill of luring your prey into your territory, or even the excitement of following into its territory and having it all to myself. 

This beast I become is so primal, so raw, cares for nothing but its own pleasure, its own satisfaction. Never looks back after having fed, but is always looking for more, never being truly satisfied no matter how much it feeds. It's so disturbing at times, and yet...

What can you do when you have become the most basic part of your being? When instinct, animal instinct takes over your very existence? What do you do when the beast is all you? Can you really not give in, not be the slave of your own desires? Is there truly such a thing as taming the best? If so, would I be the one to tame it?

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Contrasting character

I tried writing you but words failed me. Is as if they are not enough to capture your true essence, the reality of who you are. It is not enough to say that you are tall, for gods of old were tall and I am sure did not look as imposing as you do. To say you are handsome would not suffice, for saying that would only refer to your physique and there is so much more to you than what goes skin deep. To say you are joyful, mysterious, attractive, kind, wise, intelligent, captivating, charismatic, ambitious, courageous, sympathetic; all these words do not seem to suffice. They say so much about you, yet nothing of who you truly are. You are darkness and light, good and bad, chastity and lust; you are burning hot and freezing cold, heaven and hell all summed in one. You are an angel and a demon, my biggest dream and worst nightmare, all I ever wanted and all I've ever hated. You are what I want most and what I wish I could forget.

Even now, after all is said, nothing is truly revealed.

I can continue to try to write you, but no amount of words, phrases, sayings could amount to who you are...to what you mean to me...Because words, only words, will never be enough.