Her

Part 3

The bright, white paper stared back at her with innocent, accusing eyes. As her pen dances across the page, word inked in black appear; contrast. Now I stared back at my notebook, and the words I'd written in my untidy scrawl. Contrast. White to black, good to evil, light to dark, warm to cold, alive to dead, her to me. I was always the cold one, the dark one, whereas she was everything in the world that was good, warm, beautiful. What about grey areas? Were there ever any in betweens? Was it ever that simple? Right to wrong... loving her, lusting after her like I did, was wrong. This I knew. But how could loving such an incredible creature be wrong? She was beautiful, and in the best possible ways. Her beauty was in the way she smiled, in the way she tucked her dark hair behind her ear, how her dresses clung to her, how she looked in grey and green, the way she walked, the feeling when she touched my back, the letters she wrote, the words she spoke. There was no one more beautiful than her, I'd never loved anyone like this before. Not this way, to this extent. It was all consuming, dominating my heart and scattering all other thoughts like leaves in the wind. The way she made me feel... no one should be able to effect me like this, have this much power over me. You love surrendering control to her, someone deep inside my inmost being whispered, even as my surface mind lightly complained, afraid, of being so whipped. She knew that she was no good for her, that in the end, the very love she worshiped would destroy her, but she also knew there was no way to stop. That even if she could walk away, never look into those eyes again, she would stay. I added to my previous line in my notebook, then snapped it shut, turning my own eyes to her. Truth. I always wrote the truth, no matter how fictional the story. It was apocryphal what truth that was, though.