Infinite
Infinite.
I was still a hurt, scared sixteen years old child when I first met Mark. A terrified broken thing curled in the hospital bed, broken bones and bruised skin and broken soul. Of course they wondered, but how I could tell them the truth? The pushing, poking, forcing doctors. I was scared of them.
And then came Mark and he didn't ask. He took me and decided to heal me, to heal not only my broken ankle and concussion and bruised thighs and that, that too, but to heal my soul. He took me, a random kid from the street, and gave me family I never had and wanted so much. Gave me safety. Reasons to laugh. Place to sleep without being scared of what I'd wake up to. Love.
He gave me so much more than I could ever ask for.
He kissed me for the first time when I was nursing a cut on his finger while his wife and kids were outside setting the table for the lunch in the garden. He kissed me softly and gently as if I was the most precious, fragile thing in the whole world and he was scared to hurt me.
He was the first person in my whole life that ever handled me like that and I fell in love with him in the most hopeless, desperate way possible. I felt like I couldn't exist without him; I couldn't exist without him. I fell asleep knowing he was sitting on my bed, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead. I woke up knowing he was downstairs, making pancakes in all kinds of crazy shapes because that's what his kids loved and he would do anything for them. I breathed and walked and did everything knowing that he was somewhere around, alive, mine.
I would do anything for him and I asked for everything he could gave me. He gave me even more and I took it all. I took his soft gentle kisses, the itching of his stubble on my neck when he hugged me tightly to his chest, his warm hands sliding down my side, tickling and reassuring me of his presence. His brown eyes full of so many emotions, his calming voice, all the long and foreign words he used when he spoke about his work. His perfume mixed with desinfection in the most comfroting way possible. I took his adoration and gentleness and his love.
I was his precious, his obsession and he made love to me in secret whenever his wife was away from the house.
And that still wasn't enough for me. I had all and I wanted more, so much more. I wanted him to be with me all the time because only when he was around, the horrible aching hollowed wound inside of me would fill up and heal temporarily.
I wanted more than I could have and I lost all that I had. I was crying myself to sleep, blaming his wife for finding out about us, blaming the police for taking Mark because they said he did that, blaming everyone except myself. And I was the only one to blame.
The biting guilt is still there. It's never leaving me, not even now that the tears had dried out and years had passed. Years when I only had a photo of Mark and his books; so little. And yet I didn't die like I thought I surely would.
I'm alive and breathing and hurting, waiting for Mark to come back in my life.
I see him from behind the bars long before he can see me. He is thin and looks so much older than he had before, but it doesn't matter because I still love him just as much. Less desperately, less head over heels, but just as much.
Few seconds later, he sees me too, and I think, I feel like my knees will give up and I will collapse to the dirty concrete in front of the prison because it's so unreal.
Few seconds later, he rushes to the gates, impatient to get out finally.
Few seconds later, he runs to me and takes me in his arms like I'm still the most precious, adored thing in his whole world. He holds me, and I can't believe it's him, here, now, alive, mine.
He smells differently, but his hands feel the same, his stubble feels the same, his lips feel the same. He kisses me gently, and in that moment, I swear we're infinite.
And then came Mark and he didn't ask. He took me and decided to heal me, to heal not only my broken ankle and concussion and bruised thighs and that, that too, but to heal my soul. He took me, a random kid from the street, and gave me family I never had and wanted so much. Gave me safety. Reasons to laugh. Place to sleep without being scared of what I'd wake up to. Love.
He gave me so much more than I could ever ask for.
He kissed me for the first time when I was nursing a cut on his finger while his wife and kids were outside setting the table for the lunch in the garden. He kissed me softly and gently as if I was the most precious, fragile thing in the whole world and he was scared to hurt me.
He was the first person in my whole life that ever handled me like that and I fell in love with him in the most hopeless, desperate way possible. I felt like I couldn't exist without him; I couldn't exist without him. I fell asleep knowing he was sitting on my bed, pressing a soft kiss on my forehead. I woke up knowing he was downstairs, making pancakes in all kinds of crazy shapes because that's what his kids loved and he would do anything for them. I breathed and walked and did everything knowing that he was somewhere around, alive, mine.
I would do anything for him and I asked for everything he could gave me. He gave me even more and I took it all. I took his soft gentle kisses, the itching of his stubble on my neck when he hugged me tightly to his chest, his warm hands sliding down my side, tickling and reassuring me of his presence. His brown eyes full of so many emotions, his calming voice, all the long and foreign words he used when he spoke about his work. His perfume mixed with desinfection in the most comfroting way possible. I took his adoration and gentleness and his love.
I was his precious, his obsession and he made love to me in secret whenever his wife was away from the house.
And that still wasn't enough for me. I had all and I wanted more, so much more. I wanted him to be with me all the time because only when he was around, the horrible aching hollowed wound inside of me would fill up and heal temporarily.
I wanted more than I could have and I lost all that I had. I was crying myself to sleep, blaming his wife for finding out about us, blaming the police for taking Mark because they said he did that, blaming everyone except myself. And I was the only one to blame.
The biting guilt is still there. It's never leaving me, not even now that the tears had dried out and years had passed. Years when I only had a photo of Mark and his books; so little. And yet I didn't die like I thought I surely would.
I'm alive and breathing and hurting, waiting for Mark to come back in my life.
I see him from behind the bars long before he can see me. He is thin and looks so much older than he had before, but it doesn't matter because I still love him just as much. Less desperately, less head over heels, but just as much.
Few seconds later, he sees me too, and I think, I feel like my knees will give up and I will collapse to the dirty concrete in front of the prison because it's so unreal.
Few seconds later, he rushes to the gates, impatient to get out finally.
Few seconds later, he runs to me and takes me in his arms like I'm still the most precious, adored thing in his whole world. He holds me, and I can't believe it's him, here, now, alive, mine.
He smells differently, but his hands feel the same, his stubble feels the same, his lips feel the same. He kisses me gently, and in that moment, I swear we're infinite.