Wow, I’ve made it to Day 5 of the Author Up Challenge. This is quite exciting.
Today’s prompt was the opposite of yesterday’s:
Day 5: Write From the Male Perspective
No additional writing prompt today. Today, I am feeling a need to be raw and open. This piece is from a male perspective, but it is also very personal. After 20 or so years of being in and out of relationships, I have a general idea of how difficult a person I am to be with. So this is a fiction piece but also a cleansing of my soul, I suppose you could say.
Enjoy. Please let me know any thoughts you might have about this piece in he comments below.
The Story of My Life
I always thought songs about love being like a drug were an exaggeration, until I experienced it first hand.
Sienna made me love her until I needed that love. At times I got high on her, but others I felt the headaches of her romance hangover. She was passionate and emotional, which could be either awesome or exhausting.
In the beginning, all of her passion burned like a bright flame and drew me in–an ignorant moth, hypnotized by her. I got singed, but I went back again and again. To be with her was almost painful, but to be without, an unbearable agony.
Sometimes, the terrifying fear of drowning in all those conflicting colors and sensations overwhelmed me. More and more often I hurt rather than rejoiced. I had to come up for air and when I did, it left me drained, fighting to not succumb to tidal waves of emotion.
Her passion came out in other ways too. Her temper, mostly. Quick to jump to conclusions, she could turn from hot to cold in half a breath. I didn’t always know what would set her off. I didn’t know the reasons that preceded the perceived offense. I didn’t know how to handle the walls of defensive anger that would follow. I could never tell whether she was pushing me away or desperately begging for my understanding in her own distorted way.
One day I realized the suffocating sensation that filled my waking hours–the dreadful feeling of tiptoeing around her triggers. I longed for the loving passion, but feared the passion that drove our every argument.
And I ended it.
Sienna wept some, but I’d never seen her so composed. Her calm was more alarming than her anger, but perhaps she too recognized the sickness that plagued our happiness. Or maybe she couldn’t bear for me to see her in a moment of weakness.
Months passed. My life has reached a place of normality and contentment if not outright happiness.
So why did my fingers type her email? Why did they form a pageful of confused sentences? Why does my finger hover over the send button? Why do I crave a small taste of that crazy intensity that my life now lacks?
She is the drug and I am the addict.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story and all related material are the original works of Awaiting the Muse and Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti. All rights reserved.
Awaiting the Muse by Effy J. Roan AKA Effraeti is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at https://awaitingthemuse.wordpress.com/.