His Goddess

He revered her like a goddess and like a true god she treated him with indifference at best and cruelty at worst. Despite this, like a true believer, he subjected himself to her abuses time and time again. Constantly trying to prove his worthiness to bask in her glory. His attempts to show the depths and purity of his affection were fruitless.  Despite his greatest efforts he failed to gain her love and she spurned his worship and left him abandoned and alone in the world.  

The loss of his goddess destroyed his beliefs. His belief that he could live a happy life. His belief that he was actually worth something in this world. And finally his belief that true love did exist. With the loss of these beliefs he moved through life like a whiskey fueled tornado.  His many tempers drove him before them leaving a swath of destruction and havoc. Soon he had driven most of his friends away from him and the only people remaining were those who knew his pain. 

" 'Better to have loved and to have lost, than to never loved at all' is complete bull s**t. I'd like to meet the b*****d who said that and cut his balls off". Said one of the two men seated at a deserted sports bar populated by only a smattering of patrons. It would be over-crowded once the baseball game finished but right now there was calm before the storm. The man who spoke was Middle Eastern in appearance with olive skin and closely cut black hair.

“Amen Jay” said the other young man seated next to him. He had a paler complication and brown hair also shortly cropped. Both individuals were dressed as young professionals of their time did while going out. An un-tucked button down dress shirt above nice jeans and a pair of dress shoes.  

Steve had to agree with his friend's sentiments. It seemed to him that the statement was truly wrong. Steve had felt "love" before in his life, and the temporary intoxication that accompanied it was not worth the endless torment that ensued with withdrawal from it. 

Love is something that cannot last for it is dependent upon such finite creatures as humans to survive and therefore love itself must be a finite thing. Nothing that is the product of two finite things can be infinite. That is just basic mathematics. 

He looked down at the hole in his heart and wondered if it lead anywhere or if it was just a bottomless pit leading to his destruction. There had been many women in his life, yet only a few he could recall. The most prominent in his memories were women of beauty and stature. Women who had captured his life for a moment before the whirlwind of his emotions had born him away. His conquests, though numerous, provided him no comfort. His loves, now lost, left only torment. 

During his life he had had mislead and toyed with his fair share of women. More than he cared to admit. Generally they were of the caliber most would be satisfied with. But his hunger and desire drove him away. Like some cursed heathen, with a hunger that no flesh could satisfy and a lust no love could lower, he wandered the bars. Behind him lay broken and bewildered women wondering what happened to their love as he forged forward wondering who his real love was. Knowing that she didn’t lay in his past. This was until he met her. 

The first time he saw her he knew he wasn’t good enough for her. He knew he could never have her love. He didn’t even try rather he let her pass him by convinced in his own inferiority. From the moment in the deserted hallway when he first saw her radiant beauty he did not let his thoughts dwell upon her and her beauty and grace passed beyond his grasp. 

The second time their paths crossed he thought again she was too pure and too good for him. He didn’t even attempt to penetrate her shell rather he focused on the lower hanging fruit in the form of her blonde friend. Perhaps due to his neglect they struck up a conversation and something about him appealed to her and she allowed her walls to crumble. He took advantage of her weakness and pressed forward believing he had access to her heart.  But fate is cruel and karma acute. 

If you asked him when he knew she didn’t love him it would only take a second for him to recall the moment, the gesture, the look and the tones. He realized early, perhaps self-consciously, that his dreams were built upon sands in a rising tide. The defining moment was perhaps cinematic at best and pitiful at worst with an underlying tone of hopeless romanticism.  

He, a drunk young man, confessing his love under the bright sky line of New York. She, the vision of beauty despite the sodden dress due to his drunken actions, accepting responsibility for his delusion and rejecting his affection. 

Oh Karma you cruel mistress! How his transgressions were punished! He was never the same. He never felt love like that. Love without boundaries, without reason, without remorse and without restraint. A broken, yet un-shattered individual remained, struggling to find meaning but really only wanting her. He knew he could never live through such a disaster again and as a result never loved like that again.