The Musings of a Dark Mind

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The Special Two

From the moment I met him, I knew there was something about him.

It wasn’t a feeling I could identify. I could just feel it.

Do you know what I mean?

There was something about him.

And he would be my destruction.

I knew that.

And I let myself go there anyway.

I spent months fighting the demon of lust inside me before I caved.

Months of fighting his eyes and their piercing stare.

Months of fighting his advances and the goodbye hugs that just seemed to get longer and more intimate.

Months of fighting the flip my stomach would do every time he was close to me.

And then I couldn’t fight the urge any longer.

There was something about the way he looked at me.

Something not as foreign as a stranger should be.

I’ve known this person before. I’ve known this soul before.

We were meant to collide, like two meteors flying around in space with a minimal chance of actually meeting each other, and then suddenly the gravitational pull of a planet changes their paths and BOOM! Sparks, showers of sparking dust, fireworks, the total coming together of two things.

There was something in his eyes.

Something that called my name in soft delicate whispers.

I didn’t just see it inside him, I felt it inside me.

The monsters in my head were silenced just enough for me to notice their disappearance when he spoke to me. They calmed and were quiet in their cozy hovels of despair and depression. He would whisper the sweetest things a man could ever say, but it was the passion and dedication with which he whispered them that made my breath catch in my throat and my hairs stand on end.

There was something about his touch.

Something that felt so very familiar with each fingertip as he caressed my skin.

Now I know that I haven’t just known this person before, I’ve loved this person before.

He would touch me gently when and where it was required, rubbing my sore, stress strained shoulders, then kiss every inch of my body from my hair to my toes. He would hold me tight and hold me anchored when I required it, showing me his strength in the deliberate acts of his love. My body would move with his at all times and allow all things to happen just right, as they should. My body would always respond in kind to his touch. Always.

There was something about the way he made love to me.

Something that stopped the world around me, hushed the voices, silenced the demons.

There was no one else on earth in those hours that we would make love.

I was swept away in the passion and love that he held so deeply for me. Never before have I known love quite like that. I’ve had sex before. I’ve had lots of sex before. But he was the first man to ever truly make love to me like what I always dreamed it would feel like. We would be embraced in each- other’s arms for hours on end, kissing and touching every inch of the other for what felt like eternities. Clocks would not keep time of our love. People would not exist while we were together. Phones would not be cared about in our bedroom.

There was nothing but him and I.

For months.

The special two.

But I was too much for him this lifetime.

My inner strength was too strong, the mountains I had moved, the achievements I had conquered and the turmoil I had endured. I was a woman who was everything he had ever wanted, but I was too much of everything. And it made him feel like less of a man because of it. He wanted me to be weaker so he could be stronger for me. But I couldn’t do that.

My personality was too big for him. He loved it for the most part, but when I was in a good place I was too big, too loud, too boisterous and far too much fun for him to handle. He tried to love me for all I am, but his own personal constraints of human understanding and freedom to be prevented him from accepting who I was. He wanted me to be less of who I was, so he would not feel so constrained to who he was. The expectations and opinions of everyone around him meant more to him than his own wants and needs, and I could not live like that.

My life was too chaotic for him. He liked calm and time out. I liked being busy and achieving goals at all times. He detested hard work. I liked challenging myself, breaking glass ceilings and moving mountains that others would turn away from. He liked to ignore the problems of the world and live in his own bubble of pretend happiness. I started to see him as part of the problem that I see in the world. And it started to break me.

My darkness was too dark for him. He wanted me to cry in his arms and show him all my demons and darkness, saying that he would love me all the same; not just despite the demons, but because of them. But when I opened up, when I showed him just one little baby demon, he could not handle the pressure of getting to know it, taking the time to be with it and understand it. He tried to change it and talk it around to be something it is not. He could not understand. He refused to understand. And I was again alone in my mindful battle. Those demons were all I had, and they had me.

My prettiness was too beautiful for him. He would speak for hours about how pretty I was, like it was so incredibly important that my looks remain the same throughout the ages. Until another man, any other man, looked upon me with a liking. It was suddenly my fault. I was too pretty for my own good and he became oblivious to the fact that I have more self-control than him, the fact that I would not sleep with those other men meant nothing to him. It was just a lie to him. His jealousy was destroying him, and destroying us.

My love was too much for him. He always doubted it. Told me I was wrong when I spoke the three simple words that humans long so dearly to hear.

After months of hearing that, I started to wonder if it was true.

Maybe I didn’t love him.

Maybe I couldn’t love him.

I was too much for him and we could never be what we desired so deeply, because he could not come to terms with himself. And I was too much.

And now here we are.

Broken from each other.

Broken for each other.

I do not wish him well, in the end of it all. I wish him loneliness without me. I wish him longing and dreaming and irrational irritability without me in his life.

I hope that he misses me.

And he learns what he lost.

What he pushed away.

What he ruined.

And I hope one day he finds a woman who is all the things he wants, and in all the things that she does that I could not be small enough to do, he remembers all the bigger things that I was.

And another demon is born.

Deep inside my mind.

To keep me company in the dark of the night.

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