Vicious Circle
Don't know where this came from, I was obviously in a bad mood!!
When the wind blew just right through her window, she could almost taste him on the air, almost smell the magic that surrounded him. It suffocated her; the sickly sweetness cloying in the back of her throat. She loved the feeling, relished in it, but she had to live, he had to let her go. He didn't know what he was doing to her, trapping her in the never ending cycle of want, lust, hate and self loathing.
Sometimes he would actually appear at her window, and stand looking at her and the gentle breeze lifted his hair off his shoulders. She longed to feel it in-between her fingers, like a child playing with mud. All she had to do was lift her hand a few inches, but she never did. It was always him; he always made the journey from the window to her, the few feet which felt like miles. He always brushed his hand over her cheek to smooth away the tears. He would pull her to him and whisper in her ear, making all the self loathing run away. It was always him who gently pressed his lips to hers and waited for her to respond. Always him who traced her jaw line with his fingers, kissed her finger tips and smoothed her hair. It was always him who laid her down on her bed and covered her body with the warm blanket that was him, blocking out the cold air, melting the ice that was in her blood. Then, and only then, would she respond. Telling him that she loved him and that he couldn't leave, and again the tears would flow and he would brush them away and kiss the tracks that they left on her face. They would then forget, forget that fact that he couldn't stay, she couldn't go with him, forget the scars that were on her heart, made each time he left.
Once they lay together and made up a story of what their life would be like if they could be together. She laughed a sad laugh and he smiled through pain.
Sometimes when he comes, she doesn't cry, she screams, at him, like it is all his fault. The anger flowing off her in waves until he is seething. She feels that it makes it easier if she is angry, if he hates her, it makes the leaving easier, but it never works. He still eventually makes the journey to her and brushes his hand over her cheek which by now is covered in tears.
Sometimes he would be the angry one. He would march the journey to her from the window and roughly pull her to him. She would claw her fingernails down his back.
She didn't know which way she liked best, only that it always ended the same way, with him leaving, leaving her cold and alone with tears on her pillow. Sometimes he left when she was awake, and she would implore him to stay and he would beg her not to cry. Sometimes he left when she was asleep, a note left on her mirror, "I'm sorry, I love you." Sometimes he would wait until she had left for the day and she would come home to an empty house, the echoes bouncing of the walls, laughing at her loneliness. Sometimes she thought that she would put a stop to this, tell him to go, get on with her life. Most of the time she knew that she wouldn't, she loved him too much. And so they existed, coming and going in a vicious circle. Both of them hating it, but loving the other too much to let go.
Let me know what you think, am not sure of 100 sure if I can write good angst!