Beautiful Disaster.🥀

Maybe In Another Life...

There’s something extra sexy about those lazy eyes. Something in his looks and random glances that say, “I’d rather you were unclad, and spread out on this table in front of me, instead of this pile of work, but no pressure.” I like to think of him as a sexy amateur. A very obedient, sexy amateur.

Watching him work on his computer and I immediately have selective amnesia, ‘cause I can’t remember what it is that my anger is about. My attention span is far too short, for me to focus on my anger right now. I always was of the opinion that folks who found nerds attractive were mentally deranged, but trust me when I say there’s nothing sexier than a macho man in reading glasses. He’s like an oversized teddy bear; he knows exactly when to switch from being a big baby, to whispering “who’s your fucking daddy?” You’re never truly masculine until you’re in touch with your feminine side, and he’s just that, my own freaking princess! Reminds me of Otis Rutherford Morgan (except the part where Otis is bi😭💀).

Hugs have never felt so drug-like. When I try to pull away, and he drags me back to himself, cuddling from behind, his soft sigh against my nape sounds like he’s whispering “get back in here, you crazy little ragdoll.” I wouldn’t mind being his ragdoll though, if it means I get to sit on his laps and bounce all day, and he gets to call me the Spanish equivalent of ragdoll, muñequita.🌚 How dare you serve me forbidden romance?!

It is an entirely different case with his alter ego. Everything about him is a little too perfect, he’s too good to be true. It all happens so fast, it leaves me feeling dizzy. I now see with Rihanna’s eyes, cos every feeling he confesses, sounds exactly like a lie I’d tell. But weirdly, I love the sound of his voice when he does it, I love the way he lies.

“…he’s only flirting, it’s harmless. Not like I believe a word of it, he’s just being cute.” I tell myself. Then I go ahead and think about his every word the entire day, replaying conversations in my head, imagining scenarios. Lies be so good, I could get used to this. But all of that is brought to an abrupt end, when I find out I’m not half as important to him, as I had assumed. Even though I knew it was made out of plastic from the start, how dare you lie to my face?!

There might have been some sort of emotional attraction there, somewhere, for a minute, not sure. Sadly, we may never find out.

…

My favorite thing to do with him is pretend to drunk-text, and type everything we’re thinking, uncensored. He’s the gentlest soul alive. All that extra muscle and how he chooses to use it; being extra gentle with me. He wouldn’t so much as let me open a bottle of water, always refills my glass even when he’s preoccupied with something else. He has to be the one, or so I thought, before all of that beautifulness was flushed down the drain by one little misunderstanding. You couldn’t wait till I had fallen for you before you showed your “unkind” side? How dare your smile be so flawless? How dare your stares penetrate my body and leave my soul feeling naked?! Those damn tattoos and piercings!😩 Good riddance.😹

—> Sidebar: Physical attributes are a limiting factor to sound judgement.💀👍🏽

…

My favorite thing to do with him is talk for hours, about nothing. He takes the littlest and most insignificant things, and makes them romantic. The sound of his voice is all the refreshment I need, after a long and shitty day. It’s not deep and overly masculine as you might imagine, he sounds like a butterfly.😹🦋 His sense of humor is out of this world. Flirting with him comes naturally, lol. I could do this for hours, and hours, and hours, and never get tired of hearing him laugh. Even when I’m beginning to fall asleep, I never want to get off the phone ‘cause listening to his voice while I drift away to subconsciousness, is a silent assurance that I’d have a sound sleep.

In the beauty of your perfection, how dare you come to me broken?!

…

My favorite thing to do with him is to hold hands in the most tenderly affectionate way. Smelling like him, while I'm laying in bed later is nothing short of magical. There’s no better kisser, easily the most delicious lips I’ve tasted. Kissing for long minutes, and taking time to understand each other’s body rhythm. His lips and fingers are a drug I hated having to sober up from, cos the betrayal stung badly.

In all of your perfectness, how dare you belong to another?!

…

Like moth to a flame, I’m drawn to glary red flags, principally ‘cause I am broken, and have a serious problem. So, hey princess! Wyd tonight? Text me.🌚

XO,

yourFirefly!🌹

PS: If you’re reading this Smallie, this one is for you. You said I should write more about the times when I’ve been happy in love, but such times evidently do not exist in the broad spectrum of the train-wreck, that is my love life. And referencing the aforementioned, I just might be the problem.🙂