He says I was cold as ice beneath his lips. He forgets I melted under his touch. He forgets I burnt like red glowing embers, hardly warm to anything around, but burning deep and long inside his hearth heart- my home. He forgets I asked him to love himself to love me and not the other way round. He forgets that my teeth on his earlobe ripped him open and scattered his soul on my bedsheet. He forgets that I loved him heavy at 4 am and equally at 10 in the morning or 3 in the afternoon. He forgets I scraped the poison of the past from his flesh and covered it in the snowflakes of the present. He forgets I never asked to preserve them for the future, only to hold them in his palms and soak in their beauty.
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Perhaps, that was my problem. I never put any pressure on the future of us. I made playlists in his mind and covered him like a blanket when my soul storm hit hard but made no attempts to hold him there. He could come and go, as he pleased and it pleased him to leave. And never come back.
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He forgot he was like silent poetry throbbing in my chest. He forgot that no matter how hard I tried, no word could ever be any less trite and hollow than any other to capture the enormity of what I felt for him. He forgot that because I felt so intensely, I thought loving him and simply, loving him with all I had could pour my love into his heart and breathe passion in our bond. I thought that by doing so, raw and uncut, I could make him breathe in my love, like ‘twere the air around, dancing and whirling to the wild beating of our hearts.
I was wrong.
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He shrugged my confident affection off his shoulders and pushed the tender feeling of my soft lips whispering my love into his soul, with a simple ‘she was cold as ice.’
Because accepting a woman who is whole in herself- body and soul, sinner and saint, warrior and fool, all love and all baggage, who loves like a goddess and a demon, all at once, with everything she has isn’t for the faint of heart. To him, I was and will be a ‘crazy bi*ch,’ always.
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