Composer
When lust turns into dependency.
Pic posted by Tina Crossgrove, I wanted to use it as a prompt.
Loving him was a disaster Hating him was torture Towards me, he was indifferent. His body on mine was heaven, his hands a symphony composed only for me. I was a violin in a cacophony of many. His talents graced many instruments, an orchestra prepared to play for him. And I was no different. I was being dragged into the whirlpool of him, with no desire to fight the current. The waves of him lapped greedily at my skin, tasting the salt and sea air. There was no reality in which I would not want him, he was the raging fire to my tree line, the hurricane to my shore. I did not long for him as the night longs for dawn, I was consumed as the ink by parchment. Even when I tried to pull free. Because when he beheld me that way, I knew that this gentle sin would find us again. I would kill to taste my blood on his lips, to have him devour me whole. For only when he held my life in his hands--- did I find it worth living.