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Butterfly Patch

Love, what is it? How shall it be known? When shall love be found in my heart? Lonliness is all I can grasp now, now that I've lost both of them. Both possible sources of light, I have lost. Gatsby was sour, tart perhaps. And Lenny was sweet almost like a view of the sea but the tides overwhelmed you, made you sick while leaving you wondering. The tides would make you weak before you got the chance to explore them.
Gatsby had a touch that burned but the sting lasted with much pleasure. I loved him, I think it was his eyes, his past, the way you could read him like an open book or a wide, endless sky. His smile left any women reeling and his body seemed poignant, a forest to search while the world sailed away on a rocky sea. Gatsby was entoxicating to my soul and my mind faded when he was near. I could hear his call at night, as he slept accompanied by past nightmares. They haunted him but I was always there in his heart and within his pores.
Oh, how I wished to tear apart their flesh and imbed their charm within me. Lenny and Gatsby were drugs to me, cocaine in front of the addict. Now, the addict was on withdraw from her secret, lovely, obsession. They loved me and I loved them but my inability to choose has left me dry and how I wish for the rain, for them to rain on me.
Lenny moved into his sister's apartment down the road, his jaundice sister. Lenny hates her but I guess living with her must be a hell of a lot better than living with me. The girl who broke his little shell of a heart. As for Gatsby, he could pretend to move on but I could feel the shatter of his ego along with his naked heart. He had no sheilds, no barriers which is what I loved about him the most. The fact that he had been hurt in every way a person could but he remained vulnerable to love and he enjoyed the ride, including the pain. How could person be so fearless of love? I don't know.
It all happened so fast, falling in love with them. At first it was Lenny. We'd sit in the family room, the box we called it and watched old eighties movies. I thought he was gay, he was all so sensitive and simply in touch with his feminine side. He was any women's fantasy, the guy that could lift your spirits with his virtuous smile and insecurity. Everything about him was so beautiful and even though he couldn't see it, every women, girl, 90 year old lady could. Their hearts were warmed by his glacier eyes and soft interior.
My darkness withdrew them from their worlds and brought them to a reality they never knew. My love could pull them from their dreams, their erotic dreams because the thought of me was indeed more pleasing. Gatsby was the sexual one, he wanted to fuck me, to rattle my body until cosmos alligned with our souls. But I couldn't. Believe me I wanted it just as much as he did but Lenny would be crushed. I could imagine his beetle juices all over the apartment floor and his tiny body seething violently, wishing for another chance at life, at love.
Lenny wanted to cuddle, he constantly drew my body near his and the chills embezzled my body until a heat wave rose from the depths of my core. Lenny had this aura that made my head feel like a wave and the rest was history. He made me feel like a human being and a monster at the same time. Lenny made me serene when stress consumed my sanity, no one'd need a therapist when you had him. You didn't even need to talk for him to understand everything you were feeling.
Now you see, you see why any women would've fallen in love with men like them. So, my greatest wonder is why they never had raw love before me. Yes, they both had their share of girlfriends, lust toys as I'd like to call them but I was the One. It was demonic to think that Lenny had ever fucked a girl he didn't truly love but he was easily swayed and Jenny had used him for the harmless hummingbird he was.
Jenny was his second girlfriend, they were both junoirs and all she wanted was to lose her premature virginity. She chose Lenny? Jenny was a brunette, a lazy, stupid, dry girl. She munipulated anyone she could and knew Lenny was perfect for the prey. They went on a few dates, two to be exact before she forged her plan. Jenny and Lenny attended a party, he ex-bofriend's party. His name was Jackson, a dousche that played football and he would've fucked her if it weren't for the fact that he lived in a closet and suffered from insecurity about his seemingly, nonexistent penis. Therefore, she targeted Lenny, the sweetest of cakes.
Jenny led him upstairs while every adolescent fuck danced to mainstream music, blaring from the media center. He felt like it was all his idea, to have sex with her but again she had tantilized his mind. She brought him to Jackson's parent's room, the room with the largest bed, a canopy drapped the auburn sheets. Candles were lit, roses were strewn across the floor and left a trail to the bed. Right there, he'd made his biggest mistake and felt as if it was all his doing. To this day, he felt guilty for scathing the virgin whose hand brushed his face to confuse him.
Their night at Jackson's house became a nightmare when Jenny returned to school telling all her friends every juicy detail in addition, some lies as well. She informed the entire school body that Lenny was the asshole that forced her to fuck him and refused to let her leave the party unless agreeing to do so. She was evil, a demonic moth floating above a baby's crib but he pitied her. And even as rumors flew across the school like snikkering witches, he hadn't gave a care. He only felt sorrow for the girl with a desperation for attention and he never spoke to her again.
Then, Gatsby...Well, he fucked almost every girl he dated except for me and Leila. He dated two girls before Leila, one in junoir high and the other in sophmore year. Leila was his first love and that's why he refused sleep with her. She was precious to him, gorgeous to his tainted eye and they were nothing alike.
She was a dancer, an artist with a taste for vintage, antique items and every boy in school dreamed of fucking her. Her hair was like a ribbon, an ornate of chocolate brown. Her eyes were grey then purple and lips were bare and ripe.They puckered as if she'd just swallowed down a lemon by force. She smelled like a rose and dressed like a goddess, one from Paris, she was different.
Leila was a virgin too but Gatsby refrained from ever touching her, she was his porclein doll. After awhile they fell apart when she wanted more, to become crooked like the rest of her friends but he wouldn't let that happen. He treated her like a younger sister when she'd already had a protective dad that knew how badly every boy in town wanted to fuck her. She ended up getting acccepted to Juliard and married a man with a tattered heart but the kindest hands. He served in the Peace Core and loved only her. They had two daughters and lost a son.
The road goes on, as they say and led these men to me. I was the heartache, the lost baby's soul and as much as they wanted me, they couldn't fully have me. I was caught in a web, a tangled party for three. A bath filled to the rim with grungy bathwater and I swam in it obliviously. But now I regret it, I just couldn't choose...Could you?
Written by SilverMoon (Miranda)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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