The Perks of Not Dating A Superhero

Did he understand how much it all meant to her?

   Was she asking too much from him?

The days began to fall into each other and soon she could no longer contain her frustration, her emotion of feeling ignored.

Again she found her hand in his, as they walked together in synchronicity. This time the courage to speak seemed farther from reach, but soon her lips parted spewing a desperate thunder of words into his ears.

He became defensive, she became apologetic. Tears flooded her eyes. His fingers captured her ears. Their lips met; then their bodies met. And both lips and bodies continued meeting all through the night .

Her second plea for help was forgotten, so much faster than her first. She did not know whether her needs had been unremembered or ignored. she chose to believe they just slipped from his mind’s grasp and this in turn made her pretend that they slipped from hers as well. She pretended that she had forgotten that night and all she had asked. Now her thoughts focused on issues that never bothered her before, she cared more for others than for herself. She no longer felt beautiful, she no longer had the bravery to admit that she wanted to be beautiful.

This dust of false being led her astray, so that no matter how hard she looked she could not find the person she once was. Her thoughts were so unclear they were almost invisible to her.

Frustration and depression welled up inside her, but were quickly masked by a euphoria for the present moment. A moment in which she could have him – on top of her, inside of her, loving her.

There came a day in which he left to fulfill his dreams of becoming the superhero he was born to be. He said he loved her then released his hand from hers.

What at first was a feeling of numbness became an unbearable agony. She was sure her body wanted to die, she was sure she wanted her body to die. The pain felt like the impact in a car crash, the crumple zone, infinitely crumpling. She felt like a stupid horrible person. Ashamed and embarrassed ever to have loved so blindly.

She felt so much anger towards him, but still he was nothing less than perfect to her.

Life, or time, went on without him, soon she understood the freedom he spoke of before leaving. Soon she rediscovered her desire to be beautiful, her desire to be loved.

How valuable time alone was for her. Walking with two hands, free of any grip, was one of her greatest pleasures. Dancing in the nude was bliss. Laughing to the stars – ecstasy. She felt the world inside of her, it made her body twirl as her legs flew as her ears moaned and her throat sung. As her life improved hope of him returning was extinguished.

Inside however there was still the part of her that craved romantic love. She craved the laughter and the quiet two people could hold. She craved the ideas two people could discover. She craved the eye contact and the intimacy of touch.

However, he did return. He was a superhero now, he had gone off and achieved his greatness. Now upon him was a higher head, softer eyes, and bold vitality. He was older; his mind composed of one mans thoughts rather than an imprint of the worlds.

He placed his hands onto her neck then tugged her ears. Their lips met, then their bodies, and both lips and bodies continued meeting all through the night. Time sped up like a yo yo spinning its quickest suspended in air. Nothing made sense in this blur of confusion.

The day came when the yo yo was caught, stopped in its spinning. She felt as the frustration of unheard needs from the past seeped into her thoughts. This time she was not afraid of demanding what she deserved.

Hand in hand they walked. She still had doubts about whether she had the right to ask things of him. He was a superhero after all, so busy doing the things that a superhero must do. But she was not going to back down. She knew that if he did not listen, that if he did not act, she could live without him. She knew she could find another man to love, a better man to love, even if the one who held her hand seemed to be the most pristine.

Her lips parted and out came all her dreams. Her desires. Her wants. Her needs. She wanted to be loved, accepted, appreciated. She wanted to be fought for, and longed for. she wanted to be wanted.

“…and if none of that appeals to you, then please release your grip upon my hand.” She spoke the words with her chin held high and her dark brown eyes darting into his. “and let me walk away.” Her voice barely quivered.

I want to tell you that his hand stayed, that he heard all of her words, and did everything he could to keep her. But that would not be a truth. And truths are what, I, as a narrator thrive on. True stories are the only stories I tell, because true stories are of a magic of the human experience.

His hand did not stay, it tore gently away from hers, with sad hesitation. And the girl walked off, allowing the violet sky to smother her. The girl walked off ready to laugh at the stars, and dance in the nude. Ready to let the world live inside of her, ready to live inside of the world, and find a new type of love. The type that makes one feel as whole as reading a good book alone. The type that sometimes comes to one in a dream and leaves them with a tangible emotion flying in their heart.

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