Maybe You'll Burn Him Now

You love him so much. So much it's killing you. And it's killing you quick.

                You look in the mirror. You look perfect. And some would say that the mirror accentuates your beauty, with it’s deep onyx designs and turquoise inlay, but you know that it’s your beauty that makes the mirror itself so marvelous.

                Your short, deep purple hair is smooth and soft to the touch, and you could tie it in a bow if you wanted. It wouldn’t even tangle. Your eyes are the color of rust, and if they didn’t accentuate your hair so perfectly you’d find a way to change their color. But as it is, they look magnificent, keen and cunning, seductive and flirty, your eyes are a perfect reflection of your personality. They’re unique and perfect and you, and no one could pull them off quite as well as you could.

                Your skin is pale and perfect, with no flaws. If your skin is marble, then you are the statue of Aphrodite, a beauty divine. You have no scars, no acne, no freckles, you’re perfect.

                Your lips are wide and painted black, and oh so kissable.

                Long fingered hands run across wide hips, a short, black, jean skirt, rides low on them, and you hook your thumbs through your belt loops. A little of your tummy shoes between your shirt and your skirt and it is fantastic. Not flabby, but not muscular, the perfect mixture of soft, and fit. Your waist is thin, but not anorexic skinny, and you have the most amazing hour glass figure.

                Your shirt is red, with no sleeves, it stops just above your navel, and the back scoops low, with only and inch or so of the fabric actually connected, and black ribbon criss-crosses against porcelain skin. Your back is smooth, the muscles sleek and soft, but ever so strong.

                Your legs are long and lean, and right now you’re bare foot.

                You smile a sexy little smile for the mirror and pose, before you go pouty and turn away. You are perfect. Perfect, and no one can make you think otherwise.

                Except for him. He is beautiful and handsome and dangerous all at once, he’s graceful, but strong, and gods you love him. You love him so much it just might shatter you into a million pieces. He’s the only one you fit with, the only one who’s a match for your own beauty, and more, he makes you seem so ordinary.

                But he’s perfect, in even more ways than you’re perfect. You want him to love and to hold and to cherish, and you want him to love you, to hold you, to cherish you, too. He’s the only one you could ever be with. Ever. Because he’s the one you want.

                But you’re not good enough for him. Not even close, but you’re closer than most, and that must be something. You know you’re closer to him than all others, because if you’re not worthy of him, then they can’t be either. Because you’re so close to perfection.

                Even if he is perfection.

                You know you’re the only one he even comes close to him. Who’s even in his orbit. He is the Sun and you are Mercury. You are so close that you’re burning, so close. But so far away, because part of you is freezing too. And you can’t do anything about it, because you can’t move, he controls how you orbit, because he is the sun, and he’s your master. And it has been far too long since he’s cared.

                But you love him, and you need him, and you just might not be able to live without him. Without that heat. Without that burning, that burning that’s slowly killing you, and that freezing that’s keeping you alive.

                He burns. He radiates beauty, perfection, he’s the cause of it. But you can only stay close to him, and hope to take it in, hope to come even close to what he’s achieved.

                Only you have come close, so close, and it’s killing you, because you’re body can’t take it. It can’t take this aura he radiates. You’re not compatible, and it’s destroying you, because you’re so cold. And you’re slipping away, and your getting colder and colder and colder. And he’s just getting hotter and hotter and hotter, but there’s nothing you can do, because you can’t get too close, or you’ll melt away.

                But he’s just letting you slip away. And that hurts too.

                And you’re not sure if it hurts more than burning when he’s near, because then at least he’s near, but when he’s away, you can’t stand it, because it’s like you’ll die of this cold. And there is no in-between. Because there is no middle ground, he won’t let you have any. Either you’re his and all his, and you’re burning, or you’re not his at all. And that’s why you’re slipping away, it’s why you’re getting so cold. Because you can’t decide. Because you can’t live with him, but you can’t live without him. And you don’t know what to do, because you’ll die either way.

                But if you’re with him, you’ll burn out. Fast.

                And if you let him go, you’ll freeze, and it will be so cold, and you just might fizzle out. But you might find someone else who’ll keep you warm, who doesn’t need you to be perfect.

                But that person won’t be him. And you just don’t know what to do and it’s killing you. Killing you, so quickly, and it shows. It shows in the tiny bags under your eyes, and it shows in that defeated way you hold yourself, because you know you’re dieing either way. It shows in those healing scabs across your wrist, you thought, maybe you could leave yourself, maybe, you could give yourself a middle ground, you could choose how you left. But you couldn’t, and now you hide those little scratches from him with a watch.

                And he’s killing you, because you can’t kill yourself. Somehow though, you don’t want him to kill you either. You know you’re stuck, because you can’t do it yourself, and he’ll do it for you either way. If you stay, or if you go.

                You won’t survive this, and you know. So why won’t you just let go, you’re dieing anyways. Right? You’re dieing anyways. So why won’t you let him kill you?

                Because you love him, and you know you’ll love him until every last spark is gone from you. But you don’t want to die, and he just doesn’t care. He just lets part of you freeze, while he lets the other part burn. And he knows, he knows. He knows because he’s the one who saved your life. The one who found you splayed on the white tile bathroom floor.

                You told him why, while he was sitting next to you in the hospital, you cried onto his shoulder and told him he was just so perfect, and you couldn’t live up, and it was burning you from the inside out. Except the part of you he refused to believe existed, and he was just letting it die, and you told him. Sitting there in that hospital bed, you told him you were dieing. That you needed his help.

                And he smiled and nodded, and got the nurse to give you some sedative. And he never brought it up again.

                But you’re still dieing, and he knows. And he’s just letting it happen, and that hurts so bad, because you know, you would never let something like that happen to him. You would help him, you would save him, because you care so much. You would never let him burn, but it doesn’t matter, because he never will burn. Because he’s always the one doing the burning. And the killing. And he’s just letting it happen.

                He doesn’t care, and that hurts. It hurts worse than the burning and worse than the freezing, and worse then that place were the hot and cold join, because he’s doing this to you, he’s killing you, and letting you die, and just watching it happen, but you love him so much, and he just, doesn’t care.

                And that will kill you even quicker than the burning and the freezing will, it will kill you quicker than a knife to the heart will.

                All you’re waiting to see is just how much quicker. You and he both.

                You’re waiting to see how long it will take you to say goodbye. How long it will take for him to kill you.

                So you leave a note on your beside table. It tells him you love him, because you do, it tells him he’s perfect and amazing. And it tells him you’re tired, so tired, of him just letting you love him when it’s killing you. You’re so tired, it says.

                He’ll find it the next day, you know. And he’ll see the pill bottle and he’ll read it, and he won’t even cry, because you’ve thought of the perfect last line. It says:

                “I always thought that loving you was going to kill me, because nothing else could, nothing was fast enough, because you’re love is fast, but a whole bottle of sleeping pills, they’re faster; I love you.”

                You take off your watch and you put it by the note, because you’re not hiding anymore, because you’re dieing now, you don’t need to hide. Never again.

                And so you take the pills, and lie down on the bed, as close to perfection as you’ve ever been.

                Maybe you’ll burn him now.

                And then you’re heart stops, and you’re gone.

                Sleeping.

                Forever.

                Maybe, just maybe, you’ll burn him now.

Author's Note

According to my word perfect, I have very bad grammar. I use sentence fragments a lot. I like my sentence fragmants. So, kindly, ignore them. Also this is my first every time writing from this perspective, tell me what you think.

Reviews

[Hoshi Nami]

i was very surprised by the ending- in a good way. it was really easy to imagine someone looking in a mirror but then i think the image kind of gets lost. i like this style though- almost as if one is looking down and narrating the thoughts.

p.s in your bio "allowed" is spelled incorrectly. :)