State of Soul

Sip of Love

They say that love is a drug but if that's the case, I've been sober for too long.

I haven't had a shot of love in what feels like forever because every hit I took in the past left me on a nasty trip. My demons manifested and reminded me of why I was so unlovable; what made me so untouchable. That men didn't mind conquering my body, but they were too weak to love me religiously. The voices in my head told me that I was a shrine that was built and left abandoned, no worshippers remaining to praise me. That I was a piece of art that no enthusiast could appreciate.

That was what the voices told me.

And I believed them. Over and over and over again; I believed them. If they said I was worth less than dirt, then I was worth less than dirt. If they said I was an ugly beast, then I was an ugly beast. If they said my presence was only good enough for meaningless sex, then my presence was only good enough for meaningless sex. I heard and listened to the monsters in my head, ignoring the skeletons beneath my bed. I heard and I listened to them.

If only I didn't listen to them.

If only I didn't sit there in the dark and listen as they laughed and cackled at my pain and misfortune. If only I had been brave enough to turn the lights on and scream back at them. If only I had been brave enough to walk away from those weak moments of lust and temptation. If only I was brave enough to fight for a better taste. But I wasn't.

In the end, I was so empty and desperate that I'd let any man who expressed the slightest interest in me have access to myself. So long as he praised my flesh and adored the cursed art, I believed I was, then I didn't care. To me, some attention was better than no attention. That was what I wanted. That was what I thought I needed. Tell me I'm pretty and I'll let you touch me. Say I'm beautiful and I'll let you fuck me. For the low cost of a simple compliment, I'd let them have parts of me.

Parts I knew I'd never get back. The memories of them on top of me will forever be etched into my brain like a carving on stone. I'll never be able to erase those moments of weakness away nor paint over them. Like a tattoo, they will remain apart of me. Because I cannot undo what has already been done. In the end, this is a single part of my past that is a piece of my life. This is a single crack in me.

I am the sculpture that stands in the far corner of a garden, the weather chipping pieces of me away as birds land on me while all forget about my existence. That piece of art that few dares to look upon. The shrine left to rot beneath the elements. The one that none visit to pray. At least, that was what I believed.

He was another wanderer. Just another visitor that I thought was passing through. Just another face amongst the many faces I believed would remain tattooed in my mind. I expected the same trade-off; a simple compliment in exchange for sex. That was what I had conditioned myself to believe. But as he sat next to me, his body close to mine I felt a way I never felt.

Calm. Comfortable. Free.

I felt there were no strings attached. That I didn't owe him for his sweet smile and even sweeter words. The way he makes me laugh makes my cheeks hurt and the way he holds my body makes me feel like I am beautiful. His eyes light up whenever he sees me. The smile on his lips is genuine. There is no prying or forcing. And I feel happier.

I smile more. I talk more. I interact more. I am sassier. I become filled with a new life that I didn't know existed. Where others had taken and taken, he tried to fix. He sees the cracks. He knows they're there. He is not afraid of them. He sees the weathered state of this shrine and yet he stays. He stays and he praises with no expectation of a strip show. And he looks at me with such contentment.

Often, I find myself melting into his eyes. Like an icy ocean, they peer into my earthy ones. It's as if I can feel him crashing into me. And together, they become the sea touching the sandy shores. His calmness balances the raging storm, which is me, stilling the hurricane. Next to him, I am at ease. His touch is gentle, no ill will lingering against my skin.

And the praises he whispers in my ears are more like wishes and promises.

A place with him. A spot in his bed next to him. A pretty little ring on my fourth finger. Children with the perfect blend of our genes. A life to call our own. All the same things I want. The things I've always wanted. Things I was losing hope in. And now they're being promised to me. That's already more than I have ever expected. And it fills me with exhilaration and delight. These promises which others could never guarantee me, he wants. We are on the same page.

And I dare not say those three words yet, but within time, I'm sure I will.

I'm sure I'll take a sip of love.

© 2019 K.N. Herzner