Dahlia //M.H.//

"I suppose it was the look in his eyes that got me, that really made me look twice. It glimmered and sparkled so beautifully; he had this little secret to life that I had to know. I think that's what got me to stay. He was so unpredictable, so reckless and unapologetic, and I craved that chaos more deeply than I could ever describe; and God, did he make chaos look so fucking good. That's what got me addicted.

When the morning sun would slip through the curtains and illuminate the smoke, and his hands were sprawled against my naked spine, I thought of him as Heaven, my personal salvation. I depended so consistently on the love, the sex, the never-ending drugs. He provided all that and more, he filled me up entirely and I felt myself spewing over with adoration and obsession. I was without myself, but it felt so good that I didn't let myself care anymore. I was so happily lost in the dizzy mornings and the blacked out nights, the conspicuous touches and the private distance. He consumed my every thought, action, speech. He swallowed me up and I let him do it.

He spoke with conviction, as if every syllable that left his lips was absolutely nothing but the raw honest truth. He stumbled and slurred and murmured purposely, to draw you in and make you hang on every word. His speech was so sentient, his thoughts flashing across his face before they even slipped out. He was a genius in all his glory, but too sensitive and poetic to understand his chemically-imbalanced brain; and I suppose that's why I left. "