It Was A Harsh Reality.

I always watched him in amazement. Knowing his bulletproof eyes could possibly fill the empty spaces past lovers left behind. I waited impatiently to feel his silk skin say he loved me. I needed to hear him say it; even if it was untrue. I needed to hear that he needed me. Because evenings alone cast dark spells that green crescent moons always brightened so I hung on the side of his eyes letting his eyelashes sweep the doubt from my cheeks. I did not need him to convince me of my beauty but I was desperate to latch onto the words. Eager to let him half way into the past I had purposely shielded. He would often turn down the music so I could listen to his heartbeat. I longed for the drumbeat until he reassured me they were of the same melody. I never asked to be filled; but he spilled his lyrics into me anyways. Hardly leaving cracks in between my failed attempts to tell him to rewind because those words left bruises where scars had already claimed residency. I knew in the morning I would regret not pushing away his heavenly scent; but I could not fathom waking up alone knowing there was once a second presence in my lonely bed. He brought beauty with his strides and I suddenly felt blossomed. Like peace had finally found the trail back to my fingertips. Until he began to withdraw; taking my thoughts along with him. Others would scold me for letting such a decent man leave so suddenly. Family began to notice his bleek absence. Asking questions as to why he left leaving me with no explanation except I was blind and they would nod their heads in agreement. But they do not know that he could never leave me. His fingerprints are molded onto my cheekbones and his memory is tattooed on my lips. They do not know that his presence still lingers and I am often ill because of it. Without fail he always returns and says that I am beautiful. And I pretend not to cling onto those words, knowing the exact number of hours that had passed and still my name was never raised. Knowing that I had spent countless minutes enduring the separation that painfully caused conflict between my desperation to be loved and my common sense. He compares me to sweet mangoes and claims they are beautiful too, but could never surpass mine. He compares me to warm rose pedals and rainfall, and says they are beautiful but could never surpass mine. He says that silence and doves are beautiful too, but they could never surpass mine. He says she is beautiful; but her beauty could never surpass mine. He kisses me and then leaves [again]. I am grown and breathing but the child inside of me does not feel beautiful.

Love. Tianamonique.

**sorry its so long. =]