The Exquisite Pain

It seemed like yesterday when we would sneak secret glances at each other. My face feels so warm, and red. The electric energy would pull me towards him. Our eyes would meet and do a sensual kind of dance. It’s a dance that I never want to end. Suddenly we hug, and the time instantly slows down. I could stay in his arms for an eternity, maybe even longer.

He wasn’t just any other man. He was a man with an image to uphold. I was his guilty pleasure. His dirty little secret .The same dirty little secret that would show up every Sunday and sit in the back row.

His eyes were as deep as the blue sea. My eyes constantly got lost in his eyes.

His voice sounds like thunder. Likewise to real thunder, when I heard him speak my heart would jump around.

There was such gentleness in his touch, like a cool breeze on a summer night. It was a breeze that calmly caresses my face. This touch was just on the surface never deep. It wasn’t deep enough where I could really feel him. It was just enough for me to come back for more. With each text, with each explicit promise my stomach would do backflips, and cartwheels, and hikes up and down my body.

I longed for his body and my body to melt together in my bed. Yes, our beautiful bodies melting from the heat from our steaming passion. He gives me the constant, exquisite pain. The pain of wanting someone so unobtainable, the exquisite pain of knowing I’m not the only one who longs for him. No I am just another hopelessly devoted girl.

However, I should’ve known it was only temporary. A mere fantasy, a dream I’d experience under my covers every night. A vision of secrecy and desire. It was all bottled up, and it was the hardest thing to contain. It was like trying to stop a shaken can of soda from exploding. The sexual build up is piercing through my veins. Yes, it is there but it is no use to me. He is simply unobtainable, and my purpose in life is not to gain his affection. Although it would be nice…

Now that distance is in between us. The texts have stopped. The “Hello beautiful,” notes are no more. It’s becoming painfully clear. This is all I am to him, a beautiful mess, an gorgeous chaos. I was simply another woman willing to risk it all for him. Another woman addicted to the exquisite pain of wanting someone so unobtainable. Oh the pain. The pain of wondering did I mess up? Am I not enough? Then feeling angry for doubting myself as a woman. Then wanting to fly back home and confront him. All of these emotions fly around my head, like angry bumblebees.

Suddenly, I am in my bed listening to his voicemail on my phone. Suddenly, I am reading our old text messages. I find myself smiling. I find myself crying. I find myself laughing. I find myself so in love, so lost in my love for this man. The man of my dreams, the man of my hearts desires. He makes my heart sing, and cry. He makes my heart cower, and feel bold. He is the conflict of my soul. He will confuse me like no other. I am lost. I’m alone and there is nothing exquisite about it. Everyone I explain this saga of love to will say they do not understand. I say can't you see that neither can I.