There, like a divine deity, he sits and soaks in glory that no mortal human could fathom. Such beauty and grace, flying upon the wings of solitude with nothing to hold him back.
His immortality defines him, it’s as if the gods themselves touched him and made him into the perfection he is. When he speaks, poetic verse drips from his lips like wax from a candle. Oh, how my jealousy consumes me when in the presence of such a miraculous creature. Yet at the same time, hate and greed manifest in my jealous soul, yearning to break loose of its confines.
The way he glides across the room puts me in a sinful trance—both loving and hating him. Loving him for his perfection, hating him for what he has made me become. I’ve been condemned to this life for eternity, a great labyrinth in which I cannot escape.
I haven’t got shred of hope left in me. My soul has been eternally damned, no hope for an oasis. I’m in the mist of a constantly changing world. All around me, things advance becoming better and stronger than before. Damien ignores these changes. His complex trail of thought wraps around his own mind, thinking of things that I wouldn’t even begin to understand. Yet even damned and unhopeful, life with Damien has been irrevocably worth the suffering of eternity.
He walks over to me, staring me in the eyes. I stare back, his eyes like an ocean, on in which I long to explore. I could only hope to understand what he thinks, his eyes give nothing away. A blank page in an already blank book. We stay there, eyes locked. The world steadily slows down around us, and time stops. The only thing heard is the skipping of my frantic heart and the soothing melodic metronome of his. Damien’s god-like stature amazes me in so many ways. How could such a beautiful immortal cause so much pain and destruction? A beautiful disaster: the perfect phrase to describe him. No matter what horror he causes, he makes everything seem alright with just a quick grin and a flash of his eyes. In an instant, he makes me weak at the knees, forgetting all he’s done. I hate myself for that very reason, much more than I do him. I allow myself to be disease ridden, falling for all he says, catching an illness of love. He made me what I am, I’ll never forget that, but somehow the intense look in his eyes shoots daggers at all of my hatred, making it virtually impossible to be mad at him in his presence.
“Mon amour…” he whispers and all anger and resentment flies out the window, and once again I am drawn into his eyes, the beholder of his soul, and I am hooked forever.
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Submission Name: untitled
