Mistaken.

I found a guy who kissed my chipped nails and who holds me in all the right ways. He touches all the right spots and his strength when he slaps me is just right; I’m miserable. He likes the same music as me and he gets me in a way that no one has before. He sees me for who I truly am and still thinks I’m beautiful. So then why, good God, why do I want someone else? Someone who screwed me over — both meanings apply — who ripped the hope right out of my breath. Why do I stare longingly into his blue eyes from across the table, right now, as I write this — smoke sensually leaving his lips in the most oblivious manner — and even after all the pain and the horrible things he said about me, I want his hands wrapped around my sore throat; his sweat on my chest and his taste on my lips. It took one hug and a rapid holding of hands to get to fall right back into the oblivion that is him.

Do I feel so smothered by my dysfunctional family that a real relationship, with a guy who worships me and doesn’t let me self-sabotage, is too much for me and still feels like an extension of my parents’ violation of privacy? Will I always have commitment issues or is he just not the right person?

I think, maybe, it’s the way he looks at me. With a lack of disgust. That’s what trapped me in his otherwise gentle web. No one looks at me like that; as far as I can see anyway. The guy I want is like a short-lived hurricane. He comes in and sweeps me off my feet, crashes everything in sight but leaves me longing for the thrill and intensity; then in his wake, all is left in ruin. So why do I still want him? And could he ever feel the same way about me?