|FirefliesHavenMaNanAT#79|The Chemistry of our Geographies - Page 82

Originally posted by: geet.a

I am..but i always forget my handle..

umm.. its GeetArora22

Also, Belle, I read what u wrote..i really liked it!!😳 commented also..I hope u write moreee

Originally posted by: charminggenie

AY is at work and she will take her time with moving pictures. So much hope on her shoulder, I so feel for her. 😆

Originally posted by: Flame.Of.Rose

He lifts her up, lifts her up above her fears, insecurities, darkness and gives her something soothing to latch onto. He give her his loyalty, he give her his trust. He gave her his assurance, he gave her himself. With his smoldering eyes did he convey to her to let go, let go of her fears, of her inhibition and feel herself. Feel his companionship. Feel their inevitability.

He holds her so securely, simultaneously assuring himself that he is not the monster he believes himself to be. He assures himself that her trust in him ain't misplaced. He assures himself of being capable to protect her from every single thing, even if it is she herself. He assures himself that no, he can not hurt her because he loves her too much to do that.

And just like that, he is set free - within her hold.

Originally posted by: Ribelle_IshRa

@geet

I just read your poetry. 😳

Are you kidding ME? that is amazing...How I wish I could read and write poems😆 not much of a poetry lover you seee...

but what you wrote was clearly magic!👏

and here I write broken drabbles🤔

Her naivety amuses him. It tells him the tale of her shine, it tells him of her angelic bright. Her naivety tells him of her oblivion to dark, but it also tells him that it has to be him, to protect that light, to keep her pristine.

But then, he spots black, dark, fear and he doesn't like it at all. That dark reminds him of himself, dark tells him of his demons. It's the sign of his brute-ness, a stamp of his callousness. He decides to get rid of it, he decides to tumble down the pot at the end of rainbow over her, in hope that the black will fade away leaving her coloured, alluring, enchanting, a mirage.

He does it his way, he follows the path of grey, only that it lead to white. He paints her in his reverence; he paints her in his desire. He paints her in his trust; he paints her in his love.

Now all he sees is himself - marked all on her.

He sees her immaculate, just like before sans any cruelty of the world. Spotless, unlike him, full of bitter patches. It bothers him. It bothers him when she is not painted in him. Its bothers him when his markings are washed away. It bothers him when she is no more aware of what he wants. It bothers him when she is no more aware of what he feels.

Decidedly, he goes after her, tells her to stop, reminds her he is not done with her. He brags of his demonic side, the one that gets pleasure by picking on her. He tell her that she will be once again drowned in something she hate.

What he fails to convey is that he needs her, to bask in the warmth of cherishing his favourite day with the one person he can be himself with. He couldn't tell her that he was not there to get back at her but to share his joy with her.

He couldn't express of his necessity to see her drowned in him - for him to breathe.