He was Daniel, he was wet rough kisses and anger and lust to me.
He found me one day, 18 years to his 37, he found me when i was still a question mark trying to bleed red. From behind a lens pointed at my naked flesh he became a man of mystery, he became the object of my desires.
I was a young, naive girl who got caught up in how his pockets were always full- he flaunted it. The flowers and the exotic dinners and the alcohol and the touch... oh god, the way we fell into bed, onto chairs, into walls.
Then i fell in love on a broken sidewalk.
I was blind to the empty shadows in his eyes, to the lines he had recited, to the webs on his face.
I made a god out of a sociopath and i called him "love".
I was his ******, his baby blue.
I became wild under his touch, manic when he gave me his attention, suicidal at his leaving.
I was a flower that once was his favorite, but he left me on the windowsill at a slow, burning wilt and forgot to water me most days.
Why water a flower when you could have a garden?
Have you ever hated what you loved until even their existence ate at you?