Silent lover

I didn't know what to write to him, what to say to him in those rare moments when he would communicate with me again. Her messages, her words, those long silences that were torture for my soul.

Her audios shook my senses, but I didn't want to move on to her intimacy for fear of hurting her heart. Even the memories of a connection that had not died, a bond that was strong in defiance of the laws of fate.

She did not leave a single day without reading me. In my letters she found the answer to her need, her madness and perversion. My pen was the link between her desires and my pleasure. My voice was her company in times of solitude, of poetry, of passion and inspiration.

How to tell her that I was a coward if she already knew it? How to confess to her that there is not and will not be a woman I can love if I did nothing to make her fantasies of love come true? How to explain to her that the passion that runs through my veins carries her name engraved in fire when there is no night where she does not read me, where she makes herself queen of my will?

There is no room in her bed for another man. In her nakedness, my pen brings forth the moisture of her desires, of her pleasure.

A simple coward hiding behind a screen. A man of cement who is not moved by her silence, her distance, nor the magnitude of this love that remains free and alive defying the sentence of destiny itself.

His messages kept coming, an incessant tide of words that threatened to sweep me out to sea. Every time the phone vibrated, my heart would flutter, seized by a sick desire to satiate her need through my writings.

“I feel you so close and yet so far away...” her last message read ”Are you just a dream, an unattainable desire that has come to life through your pen?”

Those words chilled the blood in my veins. How had he guessed my secret? Was it so obvious that I was only a fantasy, a phantom lover created by his overflowing imagination? With trembling fingers, I began to write her an answer, anything that would assuage her suspicions. But the words refused to flow, imprisoned by the fear that she would discover the truth.

In the end, I closed my eyes and let my pen glide over the paper on its own. There was no longer any escape from this obsession that consumed me from the shadows.

For her, I was willing to become her eternal lover, even if it meant losing myself in the darkness of madness.