Title: Past Lives
Genre: poem
Rating: PG
Couples: A
He enters the room from behind. He might have been a cat in a past life. He comes to me. I hear him coming for me. Coming to me. I never had a father. I never had a love. But now I have him. He holds me more -- more than I hold him. Sometimes he stays until morning, like my protector. Sometimes only through the night. Sometimes an hour or two. Every night some new music fills my ears as he steps through my door. He's beautiful and I hate him. I hate him because he is and I am not. He is cold and I love him. I want him. I want him because of his secrets.
But he neither loves nor hates me. Tonight he went for water. I don't know if he drinks, I have none to give. Again he enters from behind, only this time from the kitchen. I haven't seen him today but I picture him with my Third Eye. Dark eyes and careless hair. Slender fingers that will reach out and touch my cheek . . . Yes, exactly. You stroke away my fading resistence. Do you always have to win? Or is it that I have let you? When he leaves -- and he will because there is nothing worse than feeling neither hot nor cold towards a person -- he will take a piece of me with him. He will take what can't be healed and what I cannot live without. He will take what I cannot fight to save myself. He'll take and leave nothing behind. He'll not be upset nor will he be pleased. He crouches.
To be near me? I think, tonight, he is my protector.
