This story explores the love, hurt, and sacrifice experienced in every relationship.
|I’m not sure if you knew - if you ever quite grasped that concept of endless love. I did, and I embraced it gracefully.
It gave me purpose.
A purpose to wake up for, to live for, perhaps even to die for.
Maybe it wasn’t a noble, or a rather complicated and delicate one, but it was a purpose nonetheless. It had been from the start.
You had enticed me fully with those pretty words from that deliciously deceptive mouth. You had turned my existence into an universe of begging, and whimpering, and touching. You took everything I had, every beautiful thing I knew, and used it against me. For Us.
Because that was your purpose.
And so we were meant to be together. To love, to hurt, to live. Till the end.
We were - together. Complete.
But we were strangers before we kissed. It was magical and yet so completely irrelevant. Nonsensical, you used to say. A brushing of lips that shaped our worlds. Your hand on my wrist, forming a barrier between our hearts.
And we were strangers after we kissed.
Looking back on those first few months, I can hardly remember. But our first touches I still feel; the tenderness and hesitation. If I close my eyes and try hard enough, I can even smell your damp skin and sense your presence close to me, waiting.
I always made you wait. Not because of how I knew it made you feel - so pathetically insecure. But because I thrived on that sense of anticipation, that lingering need. Need. Not lust, never lust. Not quite love. Not yet, anyway.
Just an endless, passionate need.
[To be continued. This is merely a sample.]