She paused. He resumed. She was speechless. He offered explanations. She expected the best. He prepared for the worst. She was ignorant. He reciprocated kindness. She was the aura of Autumn. He believed her to be the glory of Spring. In this delusional world of calamity and hypocrisy, she knew he’d bow down to her altar every single day with faith in his heart, desire in his soul, light in his eyes and a prayer on his lips. She knew him to be an absolute non-believer before he began worshipping her inevitably invincible flaws. While he was merely a sculpture made from clay and sent to Earth, it was her that breathed life into his soulless existence. She was his religion, his temple and the dawn of hope serving as an anchor for his bruised soul drenched in sin and sorrow.
She thought to herself if the Lord would detest her for letting His creation believe in the apparent mightiness of another flawed being. However, her demons roared louder than the voice of her conscience, “Didn’t the Lord Himself proclaim that those who worship others do so albeit in an improper way?”
He had unknowingly found the will of his heart while she had found yet another prey.
The taste of love, I tell you, is lethal.
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I find this post confusing because it is different to your others. It concentrates on the heart ache of a male subject instead of female.
Hey there,
Firstly, thank you for reading. Well, it’s usually a mixture of pronouns, you see. Sometimes it’s the male and sometimes the female. Thank you for stopping by and commenting though. I hope you are doing well (:
Kind Regards,
-Naima