Despair breeds creativity.
New ideas fester in the filth of depression.
Which explains why I've been so silent.
Because, for the first time in a long time, I was happy.
Happy, because I no longer felt imprisoned in an institution that claims divinity, but fosters judgement and hate. Happy, as I forged a new path into a new life into a glimmering future. Happy, because people love and appreciate me. Happy because I finally remembered who I was before It broke me.
The truth is, I hate romance. I hate the idea of needing only one person. Of abandoning other, fantastic pursuits to achieve the mundane with that person. I have things to do. Places to go. Don't let romance get in my way.
And so, as I stared at the screen, I hated myself for needing that.
He picked a short, flat-faced average woman. Does he look at her the way he looked at me? Those warm, honey eyes almost disappearing in his joy? Does he hold her like he held me. Warm and safe in his strong arms. Does he kiss her forehead when he thinks she's dozed off? Stay awake a bit longer because that means he gets to feel like he's protecting her?
I wish I could hate him. I wish I could think he were terrible. Not worth my time. I wish I could listen to breakup songs and think about all the things I couldn't stand about him. I wish I could forget that he existed.
The problem is, I still love him. Part of me believes I always have. The other part of me knows I always will.
And so, as time has passed, and I've started pushing the limits, I always keep the most significant element of my physicality guarded and untouched. My heart has always and will always only bear the fingerprints of one man.
