thing called love

Go Away-Crazy Phoenix,
ph: Go Away-Crazy Phoenix

What to do at this point. It has been around three to four months since I met D. I was intrigued by him. Who wouldn't be? He's dark, handsome, and mysterious. D is often self-deprecating, but he can get any girl that he wants. Yet he's been single for six years. I was so shocked when I find out that he's been with one girl. Although he's had multitude of flings along the way, his heart remains guarded and hard. He enjoys being alone and he embraces loneliness. He's become so accustomed to being single that he has made a niche for himself in solitude.

I think I've gone too far and have reached a point of no return. I am miserable. I'm not miserable because I'm alone, but miserable because I'm without him.

I've hypothesized so many different reasons for his being the way he is. The detrimental affect of his parents' relationship (or lack of)? Insecurities --emotional and/or physical? Or worst of all: simply because I am not "The One." Not that he is my "One"... only God knows. But I'm so willing to lose myself in love again. Because at the sight of him, I melt and it hurts and makes me ecstatic, all at once. Yes, I remember now what it is like to "feel."

It's pure torture. I pray to God to give me strength if this was meant to be. I'm willing to go on and suffer in his presence if there is an end in sight. But if I'm waiting in vain, I pray that he takes these feelings away.

I don't think I've wanted anyone so badly before. Friends say it's because I enjoy the challenge. I tell them, "I don't think so" and life goes on for them. But I'm stuck in this God-awful place. As much as I love his perfections, I enjoy his imperfections. I like his cool impassiveness. I like his abrasive awkwardness. I like his stoic composure. I enjoy his dry humor. I must be a glutton for pain. I love the way he dresses. I love his haircut. I love when he's smiling...and when he's not smiling. I love when our eyes meet and I quickly look away, hot with embarrassment and satisfaction.

And yet, I hate him for not seeing me. I hate him for not calling me. I hate him for not texting me. I hate him for making me wait. I hate him for the slightest touch, glance, laugh or no laugh that leaves me with thousands of questions unanswered and repeating in my head every day, every hour, every minute. He haunts me in my dreams. There is no rest with those who are in love.

Didn't I want this? I made the decision of leaving P because our love had grown stale and stagnant. D, he sets my heart on fire. When I run away to New York, I'm scared thoughts of him will follow me. I'm even more scared at the thought of leaving him.

This obsessive, consuming, passionate thing called purgatory.

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