She fell in love with my words. It was never me, per se, she just wanted to revel in the linguistic passions I created. My words warmed her mind, caressed her soul, exciting her body. Even she didn’t understand the attraction. I, however, found her to be intelligent, sexually appealing and was smitten by her love of my words. I occupied several roles for her; father figure, teacher and lover. It was more than an ego fueled sexcapade for me, she made me feel alive, if only temporarily. Having been alone, she would unfortunately only be a temporary companion, someone I knew there was no future with. She would eventually leave me, they always do. But it would give me fodder to put into words that would blend with my perpetual loneliness. Every time this occurred, I knew how it would end. Me writing down my words, alone… again.
© MJA