He Lives Across The Bosphorous
He Lives Across The Bosphorous. (Part 1)
I saw light in his eyes, his full lips talk of sarcasm and witty remarks. He's quick with jokes. He gets off on making you smile, laugh for a while.
Thin-framed and not very tall. His broad shoulders boast of his masculinity. Pale white skin and dark brown hair. Almost black. His hair fit his face perfectly. Not too long, not too short. It gave him an edge, a source of mystery.
I was slow to see the appeal. I was battling with another demon. A tall, curly haired one. He was draining me of my purity and I let him.
His quick wit and eerily handsome face made me feel at home. I played with his dark brown hair and made him laugh as well. I was surprised at my ability to match his wit. I took it as a compliment. He walked me around, fed me chocolate and then walked me home. We toured the coast at night and talked of all the useless and important things. He was the light when I needed it the most.
Hand in arm, I walked with him. Not feeling a sense of remorse or guilt for walking with another guy while mine wandered around looking for other girls. We walked, and walked into the night. We climbed the highest point and shared a drink. I wasn't attracted to him, consciously. Little did I know, I was falling for someone I wasn't even sure I wanted.
Tragedy struck and we both went through change. He let his locks go and shaved his head. I let my self go and succumbed to the suicidal insanity.
Insecure without his armor, he used humour as a way to deflect away from his discomfort of not feeling his best. He had an aura of overconfidence that sometimes felt forced. He came from an insecure place and used his boasting amount of self love as a way to protect his ego. I found it annoying, as well as endearing.
Walking around and talking took a turn. He wanted me more and I was oblivious. It started with invitations to parties. Desperate in need of any form of distraction, I would say yes. I would also agree because I trusted him and considered him close.
His hatred for my then partner was always endearing yet confusing to me. Was it overprotectiveness being displayed by a man? A joke? Or, may I say, jealousy? I never knew. I ignored it like I ignored many things.
