Behind the ominous exterior, and sultry demands sits a man with a beating heart. Warm, gentle, cautious. Everyone else has liked all of my posts…
He chose one.
Eyelet top, polka shorts. Curly hair. Not as much make up. The setting is dark.
I smile.
I’m attracted to shadows, monsters, and mayhem. The misunderstood intensity of the night. The fallen angel.
The underdog.
There is an undercurrent of pleasure that distills and sits like frozen water. It’s cumbersome and loathing. It makes your skin crawl at the thought that someone prefers a man with a broken heart.
Maybe exuberance fits others – loud, flashy. Needing to be seen.
But the quiet rumble of wanting is the dangerous kind of obsession. It’s what I prefer.
The thoughts.
The dreams.
We lack the ability to feel, so the world labels the opposite type as seen…a cookie cutter man if you will. You can have him.
I want the man who haunted my dreams and visions for years. Who finally arose from his own ashes, and knows there is a reason I exist.
The unseen has more depth than human made tangibility will ever understand.