In Love With the Enemy

In his innocent blue eyes, I saw the fires of love igniting with every color.

In my depth, I loved him too. But what I loved more, was how when I’d tortured him, he came back asking for more. How when I’d broken my promises one time after the other, he never doubted. How when I’d told him I’d be back, he waited. How he’d held on to my cryptic, twisted words and always believed.

 The woman in me longed to be with him, within him, longed to be weak needing protection. But then I remembered how I burnt for freedom and swore not to ever let any thing bereave me from it, not even love. And I hated myself for loving him. He had to always want me, and never have me.

Now, as I watch from my window the trees coated in white, until the glistening sun shall let the roses blossom but later burn them by its heat waiting for the wind to escort them to other places and eventually they’d be coated in white again, it’s my turn to wait.