Her story


She knew their time together would be brief, she knew he would one day join the evanescent group of lovers that had once visited her life, she knew he would give all of himself in the spiralling madness of orgasm and take it all away once this was over.

She knew all this beforehand and yet she went into it wholeheartedly, eagerly, challenging herself to emerge unscarred. He had been like tropical rain, barely giving the land time to prepare itself for the coming turmoil. He had taken her by surprise but she never got to regret it. She had no regrets, after all, she had been waiting for someone like him for years.

The only thing that was real was that he had existed in her life as someone who had wanted her and also someone she had loved. He still existed, far from her, pursuing his own interests and exciting liaisons. She had been cut off from his life by the precise scalpel of his indifference.

There had been too much intensity in their connection, it had not been born to last but to die in its very beginning. And yet, sometimes she thought of him. She thought angrily and also tenderly, she saw him at times as the covenant of pleasure and at others as a messenger of doom. She knew this would have sounded too high-strung to most but then, she had always kept her deepest feelings to herself. This was a habit she had developed out of need and perhaps too many loves.

It had always been clear to her that he had been born to create havoc. His friendly smile hid a shallowness that could break the strongest of hearts, his chivalry only had a purpose and that was the satisfaction of his whims, nothing else mattered to him. 

Still, the promise of exciting pleasures dangling from his casualness had been far too enticing not to take at its full value. And so, she hadn’t.

Many would say she had messed up her life but she felt this had been something worth messing up your life for. And somehow she also felt her life had not suffered much of damage, the damage would have come from shunning the experience altogether.

At least when old age knocked at her door she could smirk at it and say once she had been wanted madly, passionately as any woman craves to be and that he had been needed and loved as any man dreams of and yet refuses to acknowledge.

    What do you think?


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