Loving the Unlovable


Nothing compares to being with him. Things are so much less when he's gone-time is less important, life isn't as full. I'm less me. What increases is most unbearable. Alone is much more lonely, the bed too empty. I ache for a touch I couldn't keep and my heart cries for the return of his love. I don't want to move anything he's placed, and I'll never forget how his sleeping shoulders looked below the pillow next to me. His warm skin, finally beneath my hands, set a new fire to my soul. His body against mine washed away any stability I had. How he looked when our eyes met, when he smiled and turned slightly, shyly, sent my emotions flying to a new level. The desire that poured from this man was so urgently, passionately, sincerely wondrous. And those eyes-how much I see when I look into them. That beautiful mess of perfection, fear, passion, and anguish that could break a thousand hearts staring back, completely demolishes me. No amount of time with him could satisfy me. I cave in to this man who doesn't believe he can be loved. The need I have to save him from himself is overwhelmingly strong. And I'd do anything to show him my mind is set and my heart is true. I pray that one day he realizes his worth and gives me the chance to show him how much I care and can treat him as I know he's needed for a
long, long time.

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