Creative Writing

My Secret

Let me tell you something. Something I've never told anyone else. Promise me.... Promise me you'll keep my secret safe. In the heart of your mind... Perhaps somewhere deep, between thought and memory. Promise me you won't raise your voice and sell me out right here and now. Promise me you'll hear me out, no matter what it is. Promise me.... Promise. You ready? Listen....

I kissed a god once.

Shhhhhhh! I swear, I can explain. Probably not as much as you would like me to, but at least I'll try.

Oh, what did he look like, you ask? Pale. His skin; a scary shade of porcelain. He looked almost frozen most of the time, much like he would burn under the sun. His face, one would say, was shaped like a diamond. So defined, much more than I had ever seen. Every bone seemed to push through that thin skin of his. Piercing eyes of a beautiful, even breathtaking icy blue. It almost hurt whenever he looked at me. His hair seemed to stand out the most. It bore the color of that of folks weary with age; a pure, unblemished silver. The silky lank thing fell to his shoulders.

Many saw him, but few ever attempted approach. His presence, of course, made heads turn. I was bold. So I believe. I did speak to him. And a strange relationship brewed. Words fail me at this point in time. But I'll say I found the thing oddly hypnotizing. Like he was a part of my past life, I often felt it was déjà vu. I might have lived off his voice. The words he whispered into my ears seemed to drunken me. I felt I had made this choice for the thousandth time. I had jumped into an abyss with both eyes wide open. Sometimes, my heart beat so loud that I worried if he could hear it.

The feeling overwhelmed so I had to ask. My question? Well, it had no form. Even I, strangely, did not understand it. Perhaps it meant to inquire why I felt my heart in my throat. He said he lived off my very existence. The butterflies he felt when he heard my voice, the dizziness he felt when the warmth of my body met his, the thrill that made his head spin even just a little. He said he drank from me daily... and he feared he could barely survive a day without it. He wanted me more and more, as the days went by. He was addicted. Deceit would be his middle name if he ever cared to bear a name. But the day he spoke those words, I looked into his eyes and saw the ice melting. Was it another lie? Was it an attempt to take advantage of my irrepressible thirst for every drop of his entire being? Would a god stoop so low to want a human? One like me...? It scared me to death, I fear I lost my senses.

I risked it all. The attempt to control myself drove me irrecoverably mad anyway. And then I dared to taste of him... just a drop, I promise. Euphoria, if you tried to describe it. That one drop had me feel every inch of him all at once. Beyond the physical, it seemed... far beyond it.