Stunning sight of her usual small tantrum. Averting eyes, trying to keep it all to a pulp beaten up and ready to blast, yet my calm just isn’t the right one to keep it all the way she wants. That’s perhaps why she still prefers me over others. Or is it all my naivete?
Believe in this small world… something of such greatness surely involves a lot. I keep her in the net, watch as she keeps on struggle within that silly bubble of her little world. Small talk about nothing, the flaws of perfect imperfections, sadness in the eyes, glistering madness, joy… then all turns empty, foggy, as if the soul left body.
Laying down on floor, staring out the window, eyes with no focus, no life in them, and words come out of that pretty mouth of hers :”Do you remember them days, when I was adoring you ’till ends of my whits, when I wrote about random-est things… When I felt each thing so greatly more, when it all felt as if different… before.”
She then turns her cutesy face to me, and her eyes for a moment there show her “normal” smile and joy, she giggles, says “Oh, don’t mind me!”, then turns her face away, and syncs back into that frightful misery.
“You loved your pain in there, you loved to tell me so, so I would love you more. Knowing I’ll toy with you as long as it fills up my joy. Making you quite a slave, begging for more and more. You do still love to say things I want more. When I make you go on your knees and tell me so sweetly, in longing voice: “Hurt me more”. I know how to get you, my love.”

Advertisements