They want to know why, between all the furtive glances and the tentative words, I walk away just a little more breathless and a tad more broken.
They want to know if your heart is but a mere toy in my hands to be discarded when exhausted.
They want to know why I cannot allow my hand to quiver in yours, my lips to taste that sweet and delicate sin of yours, and my heart to beat only to the rhythm of your being.
They want to know why, if it hurts me so much, I indulge you even in the smallest of arguments, but can they not tell that I blossom with even the tiniest fragment of your attention?
They want to know too much of this illicit heart of mine, of these illicit feelings and of my insistence in keeping you away.
To all these questions there is only one thing I dare say:
For once I was made of rose and thorns, but the petals slowly withered away.
About the Creator
Elizabeth M.
Quirky cat woman with a wandering mind that rarely allows her to stay in one place. Writing about the loves and aches I wish I hadn't experienced and the ones I hope to come.
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