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| My Beautiful Curse (by N. ALexander Price) |
Deliberation complete. Confirmation accepted. The transaction is done and you have left.
You're my beautiful curse.
I'm cursed to continuously wish and want for you.
Your tense and tone give the impression that you don't lose a moment's sleep over what we were - good and bad, while insomnia has become my lover.
I've earned the "Idiot Badge", for I still pine and lust for you without fail. I still sleep and wake to the sight of your face, your body, your taste, your scent - daily and nightly.
I still jump at the sight of your face on my caller ID.
I still hold on to a branch of hope that you'll see that we should be together and come running back to me in a soap-opera worthy scene. Clearly, I'm an idiot, well-deserving of the badge.
Clearly you've moved on. I've seen the proof with my own two eyes on numerous occasions.
- The male figure in the front seat of your car.
- The unmistakable silhouette from the kitchen window when I pass.
- The almost undetectable fast-paced nervousness in your steps and actions when I drop by, knowing full well that the unusually locked door and our deliberations that are oddly confined to the living room only, are indicative of the sleep-over partner most likely perched quietly in your room waiting fo me to leave.
Even when my frontal lobe is assaulted with the irrefutable proof that you're being pleasured by the body of another, I still cannot quell the illogical, insane, unwavering love and desire for you that still chokes me.
Even when the silhouettes of both of you burn through the curtains when I drive by, I still hold you as the fucking greatest love of my life that I want back with every fibre of me.
Clearly you're my beautiful curse.
Clearly, my dead, festering, unreturned love still drives me like oxen to a place I'll never reach and a feeling I'll never get back.
Clearly no matter how much I earnestly and honestly want to hate you for what you've done...I can't. The rage simply seems to fortify my love, desire and yearning for you. Getting over you is a tall fence to be climbed and I'm about four feet too short and have no legs.
You are my beautiful curse.
I'm cursed to want you like breath when drowning; cursed to need you like sleep. Like a smile while grieving.
You're my beautiful curse.
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