Fireworks

If I have to picture a firework in my life, I would definitely say: you.

I was a playboy before I met you, have alwasy been. I fell in love too easily and too recklessly and I’ve always thought it was because I’m a passionate person. I was wrong. In facf, I never knew what passion is really like before you, I just thought I do. I’ve loved before. Hard. With you, it went straight to crash and burn.

I was a teenage boy, of course sex is the main thing in my head back then. I’ve also experimented a lot and I won’t try to deny it. But with you… With you.. it’s just different. It’s TNT and C4 combined. I was curious about sex before you, with you it’s plainly instinct. It was like I’m a male lion in mating season. I didn’t think at all, what I know was that I had to have you. So when you finally let me in, it was fuckin fireworks everywhere.

And it’s not just sex. It’s not just about my penis finding ways to your vagina. It’s about the urges. The urgency that I had to have you right there and there. I had to make you mine because I can’t bare myself not to. You’re like the the most powerful addiction I’ll ever had.

So I was stupid to let you go. I was young and stupid. I made series of bad decisions and I hurt you. I wish I didn’t. I wish I’d stayed even when you said you wanted me to leave. Even when you hated me with all your life, I should’ve stayed. With you. Beside you. I should’ve just stubbornly being there for you no matter how bitter it would be for me. Because you worth it. 

You’re my fireworks, the main chapter of my life I should’ve never ended. I’m sorry that I did.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s