The things you say

My tummy ache was crippling and I got sick of laying in your bed.

I declared that if my tummy wants war, then war it will get. And in a mad frenzy, I made my way out of your room and started to cross hop facing your window, away from you.

You followed me out, worried at first. But then, you saw me hopping and laughed. I heard you sink into the sofa. You were watching my ass bounce. And you said,

"I can't believe this is all mine."

And I loved you again.

-

Today you were incredibly darling.

You finished an episode of How to Get Away with Murder that dealt with Anneliese's past. You saw disturbing similarities between me and her, the co-relation between our violent history leading to our current preferences. And as the episode concluded, so did your new-found determination.

You tried to talk to me. You told me you didn't want to continue doing it anymore. You held me gently and spoke to me kindly. You said you never wanted to hurt me again. I saw all the love in your eyes and I believed you.

You said you are afraid what you're doing is manifesting the pain from my past. You tried to help me remember how my unhealthy preference first surfaced. I couldn't pinpoint a time. Your suspicions were dead-on. I did let that incident define me forever. But I was fine with it. I still am.

I tried to convince you it's okay. I tried to convince you that the trigger was there, it didn't matter when it would come to light. But as I said that, I realized with clarity that it wasn't the incident. The incident was the final straw.

The lead up, the root, was the violence. 

The violence of the men I used to date. The constant, constant violence. It infiltrated our quarrels and bled into daily casualness. Some of it got extravagant, and one of it led up to me being held at knife-point for the first time in my life.

And I guess instead of fearing it, I grew to accept it. Embraced it, even. We all have different ways to deal with pain and instead of rebelling against mine, I inculcated it in my life forever. And you're right, it is wrong.

You touched me gently and repeated again and again that you never wanted to hurt me again. And I kept saying no. I kept telling you to rethink it. And it went on, endearingly so. No one ever made me face this troubled issue. They obliged it. You were the first to dissect it and try to fix me at my root.

But it cannot work.

And you knew it clearly too.

The word you used was "damaged". And despite all the negative connotations that word held, I didn't correct you. It was true. It holds true. I am the damaged by-product of all the violence I consciously walked into. I thought I came up triumphant. But apparently, I came out askew.

I am too deep in to change.

And I convinced you so. I held you and told you how much it means to me that you care so deeply. I kissed you and told you how lucky I am that you tried to fix me. I hugged you and said I never felt more loved by any other man.

But my mind is set in stone.

You cannot take that pleasure from me.

And you understood. You nodded. You made me promise that I would never use my pleasure against you. I swore I would never. You solemnly acknowledged it.

And I love you, I love you, I love you, because right after your acknowledgement, you grew full-fledged into the iron man I wanted you to be. We reached a heightened keenness, with you knowing that you tried, and with me knowing how true your love is. And fuck, was it amazing.

You are the most perfect man in my universe.

No one else will ever compare.

Thank you for letting me embrace my ruin.

And thank you for embracing it with me.