I feel sometimes that my creativity is diminishing, I see new people, with their talent, their immerse engrossing talent, and I am mesmerised, but a little scared; too. I think it’s my lowered self confidence, or my tiny self esteem knocking me back in the stomach, twisting my intestine, begging for my courage to show up. I really don’t know what I am afraid off. The people? My friends? My family? Or my own self? I feel sometimes that this insecurity is just in my head, that this Wallflower will bloom not just in early springs, but anytime, vanishing my existence.
Do you remember the first time we spent the night, your breath touching mine, and I could hear you heart beat so loud that I could hardly feel mine. I remember that time, you touched, I know I was afraid, but more than me, you were worried. You never wanted to hurt, do you?
But now that’ it’s over, I feel the sufferings I gave you. I know that I was at fault and I shouldn’t have done what I did, and, you were so nice that you never really accused me. I am so sorry, I really am.
But it’s been sometime, and now I realise; you loved me enough to let me go.
You are alone in a crowded place, you see your friends in a corner drinking cheap beer and laughing, you want to go there, but you don’t want to go there. You are tired of their shabby comments on your looks, tired of their opinion of what you seem to do in life. It feels like they are crossing the boundaries, taking control of things that belong to your persona. “Hey Samara, over here“, you are too late, they call you over to share their drinks. Alas! how do you tell, you don’t like the taste of that cheap beer, and you hate their mean comments.
Myra rushed to her dorm room and closed the door abruptly. She stood in front of the mirror and gazed at the reflection which was so horrified that she could not recognize her own self. Dark lipstick, big eyelashes, smudged eyeliner and smeared mascara, she was looking horrible.
She stared at the mirror for more than a moment and started talking to herself. “What have I done to Myself. This is not me. I look like a whore dabbed in powder and color, who has lost her name, her identity.” she took out Shrey’s handkerchief, looked at it and used it to wipe the black tears off her face.
In continuation of The Dreaded Desires: Desperation It was a month to that date when Roy asked Myra to be in a no strings attached relationship, or it maybe called a non-relationship. Because it was never a bond, just sensuality occurring.
Initially Myra thought that Roy was cracking a joke, that it was just a role play thing. Alas! She was naive and didn’t really know what was she entering into when she said yes to Roy in desperation. The hurt began when the trails of unpicked calls and lonely texts started again. It heightened when Roy only summoned her for a steamy session of making love. She always wanted to know the mystery behind Roy, but he never let her. They never talked but his touch spoke loud, which made her crave him even more. But the hurt was so high that she wanted to leave him, but she couldn’t. His touch made her go wild, even at night when she drifted to sleep, she dreamed about she and him under the sheets. There used to be times when all Myra thought about was Roy, his bare chest, his tan skin, his six abs. She could not control her heightened emotions. She used to wait late night for his texts, many times he didn’t reply but when he did, all he asked was for her lewd images. Usually she showed off the gap between her breasts. After a time she became extremely obsessive with Roy that she started losing her identity, her goals, her aspirations. All she wanted was to please Roy, that was her main agenda then.