Battle

Can’t do it. Just can’t. I don’t want to become somebody’s toy anymore. I cannot give my body and keep my soul to myself. I am done with that emptiness. I want to be full.

So what do I do now? I just screwed up this whole thing from the start. I should have been a good girl. I should have kept to myself. I should have not given to the infatuation. Now that I am smitten, there’s no point on crying over spilled milk . Man up, baby, there’s “one action-packed battle scene” looming the horizon. Hooray for me!

Maybe I always get caught in the game because I never really knew how to play. I do not know how to train my soldiers, how to build up walls, how to mix the potion that fights this sickness. Even if I never was innocent enough to wear my heart on my sleeve, even if I never allowed myself to be vulnerable, once the switch is on the whole machine starts purring, building up to my undoing. “Casual sex” does not exist in my dictionary; somehow my heart always gets tangled in the proceedings. Too bad, I never detached it from my skin.

I do not understand chemistry without emotion. For me both are tied, hand in hand, ridiculously stuck together like siamese twins. And now it is even worse because it is so incredibly fucking excellent. The intensity that a feel every time I dive into his ocean of tempestuous waters awakens my senses and numbs my reason. It is just too much. I do not know how to deal with it. I do not know how to play this energy and stop it from entering my heart. I can’t have fun with it, I can’t forget that I have a soul.

It is so touching and disturbing but so incredibly pleasant to give in to his desire. To MY DESIRE. But it is not just that, it is much more. It is unattainable and unexplainable. I just can avoid to get invested when I get lost in his eyes, in the endorphin storm, in the sensory overload, every pore tingling, every brain cell hanging from his breath, his touch, his biting sensuality. There is no way back but a broken heart.

Or I could get ready for battle. Build my armor. Get in my shell. As if I know how to do that. Fake it till you make it. Maybe then my ragged heart will stop beating…or not.