She saw something in him from the very start, something to be noted. Was there a good way to describe it? Of course not. Words, though written as if spoken before, could not build a formula for this entity. He was someone to be cherished and yet someone to be weary of. So why was she drawn to him so when she knew that she'd be entering the danger zone? She asked herself that same question. Asked herself why she was willing to do it? Why put everything she had won over the years on the line for another shot with the boy whom her parents loathed with their full beings? She could say it was love, but that had fallen dead in front of her years ago. She could point an accusing finger at lust, but she kept better company than that. So was it that this boy turned man truly had a part of her heart with him? And if so, did she have a part of his?
Something in me wanted to respond to this text message that had appeared on the screen, but another part was screaming for me to put the phone down and walk away. Another few seconds and my hands were shaking with the effort to not shatter my defenses and answer his message immediately. "You're stronger than this," I told myself quietly.
On some level I believed it. I had survived all genres of boyfriend at this point thusly giving me a feeling of invincibility. I had been able to turn my back on all the rest, but why was this one so damn hard to give up?! He had caused so many tears in the past, wrenched my heart out my its strings, torn me apart at the seams. I knew for certain I wasn't a masochist, but there was something about him that drew me in, and on some level, made me accept the pain that went along with him.
It was your simple message: Hey, what's up? There was nothing intimidating about that…and yet my brain was working a mile a minute, my breathing was faltering, and I could feel my stomach starting to somersault. I wanted to believe there was something greater behind its simplicity.
A simple message in reply: Hey, nothing much. You?
"Guess your not really that strong anymore." A terrible break up like the one I had recently gone through did take its toll on someone emotionally. "We can talk as friends." I assured myself slowly.
We weren't' always friends though. We were lovers, we were enemies, we were equals. I wanted so badly to go back to being lovers, more than anyone could truly understand. I wanted to remember how it felt to hold his hand, stare into his eyes, hug him. All those things that back in the Golden Ages of my youth had brought me joy when I was with him.
At the same time I wanted to be rid of him, be enemies again. Kill each other with our words, sharp stares, mind games. We could go back to the days when I would cry and scream into the pillow, beg anyone to free me from my puppet strings. Beg for freedom that I knew I had forgotten.
But were they really puppet strings? Had I always been free and just naïve to see it? This was something I could think upon for hours despite the fact that my mind told me to just leave it behind. I could have just as easily imagined those strings, when in truth they were my mind, heart, body's will working against me.
I could place this feeling: love, lust, need? Another long sigh and a glance at the phone. Another message in waiting for me to read it. Well…looks like I'm roped back into the game with my forever…is love the word? I suppose it will work for now. Pick up the phone and reply. My answers will all come in due time.