Broken quiver
The cacophony dissipated as my eyes seemed to find a better muse than the live concert we had gone to. The more I tried to get past it, the more I was intertwined in the web of infatuation. I could not place my finger on the causes of the new emotions. Maybe it was her glossy lips that cried out to dance with mine or the caramel eyes that momentarily held my gaze, and in those moments, life seemed to paint the perfect picture between lust and love. One I found myself unworthy of beholding or perhaps it was the drunkenness from the loud music that gradually accentuated her sensuality everytime she danced to the soundtrack. I could see it now. The reason for all the male gaze that befell her and how they all so recklessly threw themselves at her feet? The feminine essence was like starlight, Indubitably undeniable, marking indelibly the heart of every man who dared stare too long.
I thought I was prudent, cognisant of the fate that meets them that suffer from the classic unrequited love, and vowed mine was not about to be another case of Shakespeare from the callous hands of the dark lady. It was not a battle I was ready for. Our pristine platonic connection was morphing too soon, and control was melting right through the seams of my grasp. What happened to the silent agreement? Was it not meant to be a momentary desire left to the wind when the moment passed? So why did it linger? Why did it make home when our bodies touched? Why did it come bearing promises of a pipe dream I knew I could not actualize?
It had no right at all. Altering the terms of the agreement was a trap I walked into, for I knew I had to battle the disdain of time and the uncertainty of a broken heart. If I was to ever recede to the lure of the desire I felt for the woman before me, who is to say mine is the regimen equal to a true love's kiss? Can it quench the flames of insecurity fanned by the misdeeds of my predecessor, or will mine be another bullet to the recuperating heart?
I had to stifle my newfound admiration for her. I had to grapple with the fear that she might not be ready to be loved like that, in which case, what would become of my ailing heart or our affiliation? For I knew how I love, deathly .As much as this was a real kink in the armor, my perception of all that I could do to love snuffed all hope, for I might not be the coat cut from the cloth that her dream lover is from, so it made sense to hold it in, to at least keep what we already have.
It might have been cowardice or selfishness, but I have learned never to lead with greed, for I can not have my cake and eat it too. To dance with the idea of a breakup might be the only cynic trait keeping me sober in this friendship. Being in love with her might be a powder keg waiting to explode into a tragic love story, for I know that friends can become lovers, but lovers hardly become friends. She is such that I would not want to lose 😮💨.
