(no subject)
Why do people need companions? Why can't we all just walk around, alone, secure within ourselves and oblivious to the terrible choices and mistakes of others? Why do we, deep down, have a burning need to be loved?
She's just like that. She says she'll wait until marriage. She says she's saving herself so that she'll be admitted. She sleeps soundly at night knowing she's worthy of His love; that He will forgive her; that He will understand how hard it is to be 20 and confused and lonely. She says this even as she wipes the sweat from her brow after a long night with a stranger. "We didn't DO it," she says. But there's regret in her eyes. She smiles to cover up her sadness, her confusion, her guilt. "I won't get drunk next time," she says, "it only happened cause I was drunk." On the outside, she's confident, sexy, with come-hither eyes and that passive flirtatious style that draws any guy, every guy who's got a few shots in him and a hard-on. As he shows her the way to his room, she lets instinct take over--it's physical now, not emotional. It doesn't matter what life will look like in the harsh light of morning. He's there with her, he wants her, just her, and it's nice to be needed like that. She needs him too. Everything gets blurry, and suddenly, she can't tell the difference between love and affection. And because she can't love herself, just can't, can't love herself, she settles. "He likes me," she thinks, "and that's enough." But she's wrong--it's not enough--not even close.
She's just like that. She says she'll wait until marriage. She says she's saving herself so that she'll be admitted. She sleeps soundly at night knowing she's worthy of His love; that He will forgive her; that He will understand how hard it is to be 20 and confused and lonely. She says this even as she wipes the sweat from her brow after a long night with a stranger. "We didn't DO it," she says. But there's regret in her eyes. She smiles to cover up her sadness, her confusion, her guilt. "I won't get drunk next time," she says, "it only happened cause I was drunk." On the outside, she's confident, sexy, with come-hither eyes and that passive flirtatious style that draws any guy, every guy who's got a few shots in him and a hard-on. As he shows her the way to his room, she lets instinct take over--it's physical now, not emotional. It doesn't matter what life will look like in the harsh light of morning. He's there with her, he wants her, just her, and it's nice to be needed like that. She needs him too. Everything gets blurry, and suddenly, she can't tell the difference between love and affection. And because she can't love herself, just can't, can't love herself, she settles. "He likes me," she thinks, "and that's enough." But she's wrong--it's not enough--not even close.