5 parts Complete MatureI lived out of a van and wherever the wheels took me was my home. I danced with drunkards at the local country bar and I smoked cigarettes, staining them with my black cherry lipstick. I always had my head in the clouds, because I was a free spirit; my spirit was pure and I lived one day at a time. I was a lonely poet, constantly seeking for more but failing to put it in the right words.
I knew that he was the one for me, from the very moment that I set my eyes on him.
He was the kind of man I pictured to take my innocence. His tall and strong build made my small one feel safe around him, as if he were a shield from all the terrible things that the world could throw at me. Those big hands of his, God, I could imagine just the pleasure they could bring to me. The fact that he drank green tea, read the newspaper every dawn, that salt 'n' pepper hair of his, those aged lines on his face- he was like art; to me, he transcended poetry.
I wore my emotions on my sleeves and he saw right through me, as he did with every other person. He read me like he did those words on the front page of his newspapers, but I didn't care.
I wanted him to be my hero and I wanted to belong to him. I wanted him to take me in his arms and whisk me away, strip me of every bit of innocence even if it ruined me.
It's true what they say, 'be careful what you wish for'.
I hadn't known that a man like him was no saviour, even though he had warned me, I was in too deep already, too naïve and too in love with what I saw- that I had no idea the ruin that lay ahead as Massimiliano Esposito's woman.
Poetry- as it had for all other great poets- led me to my destruction.
