Ablaze
I thought I'd missed this feeling, though now I'm not quite sure.
I wasn't prepared for the weakness it entails.
The irrational neediness and fevered passion had escaped me for so many years, and in it's place was just a passive apathetic attitude towards anyone that came here seeking love.
Sure, there were a few I was fond of, even came to adore, but at the heart of things was still a discontentment and knowledge that there was something empty and lacking there.
Originally, I simply thought him breathtaking - his speech, his manners, his complex thoughts, and the way his hair would fall over his face and in the way of those fantastic blue eyes.
Then I saw his passion. It left me stunned.
I wasn't sure what was happening, but something deep in some forgotten pit of me started to stir. Before I knew it and all too soon, a full blown fire had erupted and was consuming me, and I was still left there astonished, bewildered at feeling any of it at all, much less so fiercely so soon.
I try to compose myself when he's around. I try to play hard to get, and bat my eyes and cross my ankles the way good, charming, polite girls do.
Then he kisses me and all is lost, or a soft little coo escapes his lips when I brush my fingertips across his chest and all common sense is left in the wind.
I should be able to restrain myself.
I should be able to let him be the one to lead this pursuit.
Oh, but this fire, I cannot ignore it, I cannot sleep through it.
You will be the death of me, angel.
Why angel you say?
I suppose you cannot see things through my eyes.
You hold vague ideas of your value, but aren't so bold as to truly know what those of us with open eyes really see.
You make the rest of the male race look like blithering idiots, while your delicate ways and fierce dedication keep them in envy.
I do not think you perfect,
even angels aren't perfect.
Even angels have demons, and your demons are safe with me.
I wasn't prepared for the weakness it entails.
The irrational neediness and fevered passion had escaped me for so many years, and in it's place was just a passive apathetic attitude towards anyone that came here seeking love.
Sure, there were a few I was fond of, even came to adore, but at the heart of things was still a discontentment and knowledge that there was something empty and lacking there.
Originally, I simply thought him breathtaking - his speech, his manners, his complex thoughts, and the way his hair would fall over his face and in the way of those fantastic blue eyes.
Then I saw his passion. It left me stunned.
I wasn't sure what was happening, but something deep in some forgotten pit of me started to stir. Before I knew it and all too soon, a full blown fire had erupted and was consuming me, and I was still left there astonished, bewildered at feeling any of it at all, much less so fiercely so soon.
I try to compose myself when he's around. I try to play hard to get, and bat my eyes and cross my ankles the way good, charming, polite girls do.
Then he kisses me and all is lost, or a soft little coo escapes his lips when I brush my fingertips across his chest and all common sense is left in the wind.
I should be able to restrain myself.
I should be able to let him be the one to lead this pursuit.
Oh, but this fire, I cannot ignore it, I cannot sleep through it.
You will be the death of me, angel.
Why angel you say?
I suppose you cannot see things through my eyes.
You hold vague ideas of your value, but aren't so bold as to truly know what those of us with open eyes really see.
You make the rest of the male race look like blithering idiots, while your delicate ways and fierce dedication keep them in envy.
I do not think you perfect,
even angels aren't perfect.
Even angels have demons, and your demons are safe with me.