She liked being loved, I can tell you that. She liked it
when I showed her just how much a simple man can love, and
how much he's enthusiastic to show it. And I liked loving
her, I can tell you that too.
I liked her young yet powerful brown eyes, her soft little
cheeks, her smooth black hair, her body, her smell, her!
I loved her power, for she was strong enough for the both of
us. I loved her justice, her knowledge, her way of thinking,
so many times I wished I was more like her. She was my
heroine.
I've already lost all pleasure in thinking of her and I
together, hugging and kissing and being happy.
Until one day when I finally realized how much she really
did like to be loved. She liked it when I kissed her eyes
and gently touched her cheeks, and she liked the way I
touched her like men are supposed to touch women (although
it always felt like she was much more than a woman and I was
just a little less than a man).
She would of course tried to make it so I wouldn't know she
enjoyed it that much, and that I was the one who enjoyed it
the best.
Well, I obviously and most naturally enjoyed it more that
she did, but she didn't suffer one bit, I can tell you that
too!
She knew she wasn't being forced into anything, yet she went
on with it. Was it out of pity for me? Since when did she
consider me worth her pity?
So I knew she enjoyed it, and I knew I enjoyed it, so I
really couldn't understand why she kept wanting it to stop.
It was only the two of us in the room, no witnesses, no
judges, no god! And we were both connecting in a perfect
way, perfect until she made it not perfect, negative and
wrong.
So that was it. I was forced to watch her, speak to her and
working to gain more of her friendship, and at the same time
knowing and feeling that I once touched her and she touched
me, and that I must forget it all now and never again think
about it again.
It drove me mad! How could she expect that? How dare she?!
However, I had not too many choices.
So day after day I kept going more and more crazy. Crazy for
her that is, but still crazy!
I would climb walls if I could, I would break the entire
world, I would cry until the river I've created drowned me,
I would do anything just to stop craving for her so
badly...
I realized that I wasn't suffering because of her, but
because of her absence, it was the lack of her that was
killing me inside, the basic physical need my arms had to
hold her and touch her.
Eventually I realized just what sort of Heroine she actually
was for me, but it was too late because by then, I was
already an addict.

Latest Hebrew Version 10.4.2006 --
http://stage.co.il/Stories/578622