My Muse

We had had our usual fight. Before it was verbal, but it got physical on this day he came home - on my birthday.

Threw me on my bedroom door (no, we never got below the navel. I was always scared after the rape issues I had gone through, but snogs, strokes and caresses kinda healed the wounds, my assumptions, you guess right). "All these years you are still holding that thing away from me" (it's not just a thing for heaven’s sake ). My hands twisted on the door frames, spurt on my neck and he left.

That night I told him we are over.

And the next thing was flowers, and a note "Can I treat you right for the last time?" It was the most annoying text.

I loved him. I did. My parents knew their daughter was in love with someone, she awakened love before it was due (Song of Solomon 8:4) and the flames of it were consuming her soul, her inner beauty into ashes. She defied her Master's words (Song of Solomon 8:6, Close your heart to every love but mine; hold no one in your arms but me. Love is as powerful as death; passion is as strong as death itself. It bursts into flame and burns like a raging fire).

She let a love fraudster hold her arm. His calls were sweet lullabies, lullabies? Should be keeping awake! Well lullabies, yes, lullabies, they put her heart to sleep, to have a date with nightmares.

His angry voice turned her on, no, not ready for foreplay, but on toes, to fly past his head. But thoughts of "His caresses will heal the wounds rape caused in my uterus, mind, heart and soul" kept her lips grounded in his.

And so life went on. Abuse after abuse, but his abuses were her muse, turning her into a muse.

So will she detest her past especially this relationship that got her into a relationship with ink? No, but she will say, “don't stay in a toxic relationship”.