He's so beautiful.
The thought bloomed throughout every corner of my mind as I watched him gather the clothes strewn across the floor of my dorm. It wasn't something I could ever say out loud. He did not like that. In fact, conversation had not been a thing we partook in much. He preferred it, it was better that way. There were some moments we talked, though. The moments where I knew a bliss like no other. The moments when he made me come alive. He loved when I "talked" then. He did what he could to hear the passionate noises that fell from my lips. He'd talk a lot then too, and I'd make more sounds. He loved that.
That was all we had though. If those moments weren't around, we did not talk much at all. I had asked him once before. In some roundabout way, I questioned why this was all we had. His answer was he didn't want me knowing him. Says I knew enough. Perhaps I did. But the way he touched me would always leave me yearning for more. I was Eve, and he would bring me to a garden showcasing a beauty only he could introduce me to, then he would ask me not to indulge in the fruit that was him. I don't know much, but I know I can't have it, he's made that abundantly clear. So as the grandeur illusions of Eden dissolve, I watch, as he finds what clothes belong to him, and throw them back on. Neither of us saying a word. I watch, as he grabs his phone and keys that sit comfortably on my dresser. And then I watch, as he leaves my room. Doing it all in complete silence.
And then, as the gates to Eden shut, I cry.
This usually happens after we were intimate. The onslaught of emotions it brings comes with a potency that puts me under a heavy weight. It can be overwhelming at times. It's when the voice of the serpent is loudest. It asks me to reach out for the fruit he bears. To take comfort in the knowledge of him it will provide. Both the good and evil. It tempts me with the dream of being close. But we never can be. He doesn't like that. Instead he leaves and the weight crushes me until there's nothing left. So I cry under the pressure that threatens my existence, until it succeeds in its purpose.
I think...I'm ashamed.
I'm ashamed that I have such a disregard for myself. That I would allow someone to come into my body, my temple, and leave it derelict. Like... a drug. That's what he was. A drug that could take you to the highest plane of existence. A drug that would allow you to feel the most ultimate sense of euphoria as it permeates every aspect of your being. A drug that would shatter your psyche, and make you a shell of your former self when it was done with you. A drug that you could never recover from.
As you wallow in the sunken place, you wonder what it is that brought you there. What were you looking for as you gazed so far into despair?
The high.
Solace is found in the high. I was chasing that high.
I was addicted.
Addiction is never planned. At first you think you can handle it. The high, the aftermath. You think you know what you're doing. You think you're stronger than that, better. It's just a few times, you'd never make it your lifeline. You don't realize just how fragile you are until it's too late.
It's my fault.
That's why I try not to complain. At least, not to him. I signed up for this after all. I told him I could handle it, I assumed I was invincible. How arrogant.
I'm weak.
I know that now. I repeat the affirmation to myself as I continue to cry for my loss of Eden, and my loss of me. I cry until no tears are left because I have been crushed into nothing. Until all I can do, is sleep from the effects of the crash.
