Broken

This is a nonfiction piece that I wrote after I ended things with a man that I never realized that I was in love with until writing it. He was a nonbeliever and I was a Christian weak in my faith.

As I stood there looking at him sitting in that corner, I knew. There, in his eyes, the pain of a broken man, a young boy searching for the love of someone, anyone. Underneath that don’t care attitude, underneath the goofiness, but I knew there was a brokenness to him and I didn’t care at all. I said that I was not going to fall but as he looked at me with those hooded eyes and that smile, I knew that I had already fallen. Unnerved at his intense stare, I focused on kicking his outstretched legs on either sides of me; trying to turn away from him I left my arms exposed, giving him enough leverage to pull me into his lap. I sat tense for a heartbeat before I relaxed as his arms wrapped around me. The feel of his forehead against my back and the steady beat of his heart gave me a reason to stay sitting; knowing that right now I was his only real source of affection gave me power over him that I wish I didn’t have. Knowing this confused me more but the feel of his arms around me gave my heart clarity.

My heart beats slowly, ever so slowly, as I sit on him; not the fast erratic pulsing of lust, but a slow one that’s begging, yearning, asking, for a chance to love and care for him. As the minutes ticked on, my heart became fonder of the broken man that I sat upon; slowly, very slowly my embarrassment of sitting like this in public alleviated. For once he didn’t try and be the brave man he pretended to be; he was always trying to make me believe that he was okay. He was always telling me not to worry my “pretty little head” about it because he knows how to survive; that he wears his battle wounds with pride, his scars with confidence.

It took a momentary lapse of judgment for me to get off his lap, turn around, and sat on his straddling his long legs. The look of surprise changed into a cocky smirk, one of those that made me want to slap him, causing my cheeks to burn even more with a blush. I scoot backwards ready to jump off his lap, when his hands clamped down on my thighs keeping me locked on his lap; he wrapped his left arm around my waist, and used his right hand to cup my face. He slowly leaned into me, staring through me with these haunted eyes; letting me know that I might be the anchor that will keep him from sinking under the waves.

I nuzzled the hand cupping my cheek and I leaned into to him, surrendering myself to a heart-wrenching kiss. I felt all the sadness, resignation, and weakness that he felt in that one kiss. I prayed that all that I was feeling would translate off my lips, the love that I felt for this strong man, the support that I am willing to give him, and how far I would go to make him feel loved. I have never felt so sure in a decision than I do at this current moment; this complete agreement of my mind, my heart, and soul.

I wanted to help fight the demons that he faced but I didn’t know how to do it in a way that made sure we both ended up victorious. I wasn’t scared of a battle, I wasn’t scared of taking his demons but I was scared of pain that I could possibly cause him. It was possible for me to break him even more and for him to destroy my heart.

I know that I should probably leave him alone, as our two worlds will never align unless I chose to throw away everything I knew or he chose to accept what I believed in. Why was I so selfish? Why did I worm myself into his life? Into his heart? Why did I choose to stay and let our lives intertwine once I learned the truth? Was it a need to play hero? Was it the need to fix a broken heart? Or was it really the need to feel important and needed? Why did I enter into his life, when I knew that leaving him later on would leave yet another scar on his heart?

I am a broken woman, and he was a broken man; I couldn’t make him whole, when I was not whole; he could not fill the void that needed to be fill. I ended things in a way that, I thought, would make him hate me; but here he stands ready to forgive and wrap me up in the arms that were more familiar than my own father’s.

Author's Note

Ignore punctuation mistakes.

Reviews

[Mr. D]

If you count on others to fill your holes (pause), you will end up with more than you started with. You cannot fix people even when and if you were whole. Put people on a pedestal at your peril.