I remember well the moment I came across the man whose glance got into my soul with such intensity that it both terrified and intrigued me. It was as if he peeked beyond the surface that I displayed to the public, digging into the depths of my existence and discovering something captivating, something he couldn’t get away from. The way he looked kept me stuck as if I were the embodiment of some inexplicable attraction, a conflict of darkness and beauty that sparked his interest to no limit. During those initial times, his focus felt like a two-sided coin, stirring up both thrill and fear within me. I couldn’t quite grasp why he looked at me with such intensity like I was some enchanting being. His gaze kept me captive, and my curiosity dragged me closer to him despite my concerns. From curiosity and fascination, something deeper evolved. When my life was out of control and I felt I was spiraling out, he was my rock. I couldn’t explain how I found light in his darkness. His words hushed comfort and his touch brought calmness when my nights were haunted by the past. He shielded me from the harsh truths of the world beyond and I found peace in his embrace. With him, shadows couldn’t scare me anymore. “Please stay,” I begged him, my voice shaking with a weakness I dared not accept. “Love me through the weather, for this will be forever.” And he would hug me closer, his unspoken vows resonating in the spaces between us, confirming the depth of his love. But it wasn’t simply his unshakable presence that pulled me in; it was his eagerness to bare his soul, to expose the darkest parts of his past, and allow me to see the broken pieces he worked so hard to disguise. He revealed every fault, regret, and weakness, putting them at my feet with such candor that I was left breathless. The darkness threatened us, but his shades made me only to continue to adore him. In his defects and imperfections, I discovered a beauty that went beyond the limits of perfection, a beauty that spoke to the depths of my own broken heart. And, while our trip was filled with uncertainty and grief, I wouldn’t have changed a single second of it for the world. For in the darkness of his embrace, I discovered not only comfort but also peace. And, through his love, I felt a home that I never left from, and a place where I always longed for.

“There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust.”
― Edgar Allan Poe

I remember the days when I found myself entangled in the web of his allure, drawn to the enigma of his being like a moth to a flame. He was a bad boy with a heart damaged by the shadows of his past, which I could not ignore. Despite the warnings echoing in my mind, I found myself irresistibly drawn to him, unable to resist the pull of his charm. “He is a bad boy with a tainted heart,” I would whisper to myself, a mantra of caution that fell on deaf ears. Deep down, I knew that pursuing him was anything but smart, that the path I was treading was fraught with danger and uncertainty. But during the chaos, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of his love, unable to break free from the chains that bound us together. “Mama, I’m in love with a criminal,” I would confess, the words heavy with the weight of truth. I knew that this type of love defied reason, that it was born not out of logic, but out of the raw intensity of our physical connection. And yet, despite the tumult raging within me, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away, couldn’t find the strength to sever the ties that bound us together. As tears filled up in her eyes, I felt the weight of her pain carry down on me like a dark mantle. “Mama, please don’t cry,” I would plead, my voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and desperation. “I’ll be alright,” I would promise, though deep down I knew that the path ahead would be anything but smooth. In the tumult of our love, I found both ecstasy and agony, moments of unparalleled bliss interspersed with heartache and despair. Despite all the destruction that surrounded us, I couldn’t help but hold out hope that love would find a way to win it all. For better or for worse, I was inextricably bound to him, tethered to the whims of fate by the fragile threads of our shared passion. And, despite the uncertainty of the path ahead, I was left wondering whether our love was going to be our salvation or our destruction.

“Come in! come in !’ he sobbed.
‘Cathy, do come. Oh do -once more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me this time – Catherine, at last!”

― Emily Brontë

I remember him casting his glance at me, his eyes full of need and ownership that sent shivers down my spine. He said words that rang in the depths of my soul, his voice dripping with longing and authority. “I hope my shadow haunts you,” he would say softly, his words a terrifying reminder of his power over me. “So you can’t be with anyone else in the nighttime.” His words were a taunt, a challenge that dared me to defy the hold he had over my heart. Even though I objected, I couldn’t avoid the truth that lingered in his words. “You taunt me,” he would say, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation, “but you don’t dare forget that you’re mine.” Somehow, amidst the chaos of our tangled emotions, he had managed to break through the walls I had built around my heart. In the darkness that surrounded us, I found myself ensnared, unable to break free from the hold he had over me. “Darkness holds me,” I would whisper to myself, a silent acknowledgment of the power he wielded over my very being. “The tears of a sinner, the arms of the holy,” I would muse, the dichotomy of our love a testament to the complexities of human emotion. And yet, despite the tumultuous nature of our relationship, he would always find his way back to me, his presence a constant in the ever-changing landscape of my life. “You’re back,” I would acknowledge, the words heavy with a mixture of longing and fear. “And you want me,” I would continue, my voice trembling with the weight of unspoken desires. “Need to see you crawling,” he would admit, the admission a testament to the power dynamics that defined our love. “Yeah, I want you to…beg,” he would confess, the words a whispered plea that hung in the air between us. And then, in a moment of amazing difficulty, he would close the gap between us, his touch sparking a fire that consumed both of us. “Before I hunt you down,” he would murmur, his voice husky with desire, “grab your chin and kiss your lips.” And in that moment, I would surrender to the pull of his embrace, my willpower crumbling beneath the weight of our shared passion. “You bring me back,” I would acknowledge, the words a whispered confession of the hold he had over my heart. “I lay you down,” he would continue, my voice barely above a whisper, “and grab your hips.” In that moment, we would lose ourselves to the intensity of our desire, our bodies moving in perfect harmony as we surrendered to the ecstasy of the moment. “And before you know it,” he would whisper, his words a promise of things to come, “I put a spell on you. Now you are mine.” And at that instant, as our bodies connected in a timeless dance, I knew our love was primal, unrestrained by reason or logic. In the darkness that surrounded us, we found relief in one other’s embrace, our love a ray of light in a world ravaged by shadows. As the night spread out before us, I knew that no matter what challenges awaited us, we would face them together, united by the unbreakable connections of shared desire.

“You’re vulnerable even though you try to conceal it.

You stay true to yourself despite what haunts you. I may not specifically know what haunts you but there is a beauty in you.”
― David Grinnell

I remember the moment when he spoke those words to me, his voice a melody that danced on the edge of my consciousness. “Let’s lay in the dead grass,” he said, his words a whisper against the backdrop of the night sky. “Stare at the stars, run away, and live out of cars and bars,” he continued, his voice tinged with a hint of longing for the freedom that lay just beyond our grasp. “Let’s just leave here,” he urged, his words a silent plea to escape the confines of our reality. “Cause there’s nothing left to see,” he added, his voice filled with a sense of resignation that echoed in the silence between us. Despite the uncertainty in the air, I couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope ignite within me. “And if that’s wrong, let’s make it right,” I replied, my voice steady with determination. “And if you leave, just give me one more night,” I added the words a whispered prayer that hung in the air between us. “Because there’s no one you’ll find that’s quite like me,” I confessed, the truth of my words echoing in the spaces between us. “Don’t you know,” I pleaded, my voice trembling with emotion, “I lose control when you’re not next to me.” The words spilled from my lips like a confession, the weight of their truth pressing down upon me like a heavy burden. “I’m falling apart right in front of you,” I admitted, the vulnerability of my words laid bare for him to see. “Can’t you see,” I implored, my voice cracking with emotion, “I lose control when you’re not next to me.” His absence was a void that threatened to consume me, a darkness that threatened to swallow me whole. “You make a mess of me,” I whispered, the words a silent acknowledgment of the power he held over my heart. In his absence, I felt lost, drowning in a sea of confusion and doubt. Despite the chaos surrounding me, I couldn’t help but hold out hope that he’d come back to me. In the solitude of the night, I took comfort in the memory of his touch, a brief recall of the love we had. And, while the stars danced above, I muttered a hushed prayer into the darkness, begging for his return and our salvation.

“[S]he heard his moans in the middle of the night, the strangling gasps, as if his memory, lost to him in life, somehow came back to haunt his sleep, like a vicious ghost clinging to a life it could no longer have.”
― Victoria Lynn

He always returned to me, without fail, no matter how late the hour or how weary he looked. His presence was solid, and his will never failed in the face of difficulty. Even when he was exhausted, he always remembered to bring me flowers, each bloom a witness to the depth of his love. In those fleeting moments when he stood before me, his silhouette cast against the backdrop of the night, I knew that he was more than just the dark shadow that haunted the edges of my reality. He was my light, shining the darkness that attempted to consume me with the fire of his love. With each flower he brought, he whispered silent promises of devotion, his actions speaking volumes where words often fell short. And in the beautiful petals that touched my fingertips, I found peace in knowing that our love was a power greater than the darkness that surrounded us. Even on the darkest nights, he was a ray of hope, guiding me through the tunnels of doubt. And as long as he returned to me, with flowers in hand and love in his heart, I knew that together we could weather any storm that threatened to tear us apart. In his arms, I found shelter from the world’s chaos, a haven where our love could thrive in the face of disaster. As we stood there under the bright stars, I said a small prayer of gratitude for the brightness he brought into my life, a light that burned brighter than any darkness we had ever known. As I reflect on those events today, I can’t help but wonder what he said. “When I make you cry out for God, does that count as praying?” The question stays with me, triggering emotions and memories. In the end, perhaps our love was its form of prayer, an uncovered expression of passion and devotion that went above normal and anything I ever experienced before.

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