I found my Prince in a Frog!

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. I've been burned already, and yet here I am again. Even a pain in the ass needs someone to care about them

I'm anything but fine. I have fallen for someone who's so emotionally shut down; I will only get hurt- deep down I know this- someone who by his own admission is completely scarred up. In this quiet moment, as I close my eyes, spent and sated, I think I'm in the eye of the storm. And in spite of all he's said and what he hasn't said, I don't think I have ever been so happy. But now I feel like a receptacle -- an empty vessel to be filled at his whim. If that wasn’t a declaration of love, I don't know what is. The words continue to tumble out of me like an overflowing river drum. . But His words make sense. He's not the man for me. This is what it all means, and it makes his rejection acceptable.. I can live with this. I understand

There's a joy in my helplessness, joy in my surrender to him, and to know that he can’t lose himself in me the way he wants to. I can do this. He takes me to these dark places, places I didn't know existed, and together we fill them with blinding light.

I feel like the sun has set and not risen for five days. I’m in perpetual night here, except that the candle flame is too blinding. It flickers and ballets in the over-warm breeze, a breeze that brings no respite from the heat. Soft flimsy wings flutter to and fro in the dark, sprinkling dusty scaled in the circle of light. I'm struggling to resist, but I'm drawn. And then it's too bright, and I am flying too close to the sun, dazzled by the light, fried and melting from the heat, weary in my endeavors to stay airborne. I am so warm. The heat is stifling, overpowering, excruciating.  But it wakes me.

I think I've kissed a prince. I deeply ached for him to not turn into a frog. In my groggy and intoxicated frame of mind, he tastes like vanilla. I hate vanilla. I wish he was honey instead. But that’s the thing. He is everything I would never want, I would never intrigue upon. Yet, he is all that I wish for. I wish for him to mend me and break me, to make me sore. I wish for him to argue with me and fight me and push me away. I wish he would pull my waist and kiss me and smile. I wish that somewhere in his slumber, when the angels are listening to his unspoken wishes, he wishes for me too. 

My Frog. My Prince!