I think I'm free.

The spell is broken. I no longer feel the conflict that has wrecked my life for the past month. I woke up Sunday morning feeling love. I kept having several dreams of kissing several people in several different scenarios. It didn't feel illicit. I didn't feel like a whore. I felt genuine love. The funny thing is, the incubus was not involved. I dreamed love. I dreamed of being missed. I dreamed of being the object of affection. Which is something I've longed to be, for more than just a fleeting moment of passion. In these dreams, the men weren't just people I've passed on the street, or faces I've designed in a fevered haze. They felt like reality. They felt like home.

The incubus doesn't feel like home to me. The incubus feels like an unfurnished apartment that I missed two months rent on. He feels like a hotel room when the bed isn't made. A space that isn't meant for me to occupy. I've only felt home once. I want to feel home again.

I wonder where he is now...

One aspect I've found in relationships is I tend to love hard. I'll love as if you're dying the next day. I'll love as if you're leaving to fight a war. Like my heart is going to implode if I don't shower you with my undying passion. Nothing is impossible to please you, my lover. Until my last breath. Until forever.

I'll cover the waterfront for you, my darling...

I need the same reciprocity. Some can't. Most won't. For fear of them being left stripped. Naked. Alone. Which, is what I've been left most times.

This time is distinctively odd...

Usually, I assume the role of the victim after being raped of all my esteem, worth and honor. Still, I proceed to build my castle, with another King. Only to be divested for an encore performance. This time, I'm building my castle with mortar and bricks instead of straw, denial and transgressions.

I'm strong now...

I shall not lie. I love the incubus. But I'm happy with loving the incubus in my own quiet way, with no production. No spectacle for the town simpleton to display. Just me. I can love the incubus from afar. I'll remember what the incubus brought to me for that one lightning flash. I'd like to befriend the incubus, and be released from the sexual longing. I want to be a sister to him. Love him like he was my own flesh and blood. Appreciate him for who he is, and feel pity for the women who've felt like I have for my fifteen minutes of splendor.

Appreciate him for granting me the moment to exhale.


The moment of my release....

Overcast.

In the day. On my mind.

The incubus is infected with the common cold, and I'm a bit relieved. In his weakened state, his sting isn't that potent. I'd like to pamper him with tenderness.

Last night...

I sought intervention with The Society at our usual spot. The Chateau is our special place of gathering for these kinds of confab, over liquor. Martinis are so nice when shared with the Society. My elite is a dry watermelon martini. Nothing like it to soothe raging insides. It's like Cheers to us, we, The Society. Everyone actually knows and remembers your name.

I wanted to sleep with the incubus last night. Instead of alone, in my darkness with a white hot psyche. I don't think of him in an erotic manner at times, I just wonder what goes on in his head. I'd like to get in there, but the enigma within would drain my very essence, leaving me a babbling vegetable, screaming obscenities no one hears. A mind state I've experienced once before. The incubus is so intriguing to me. I wonder what he reasons with before he closes his eyes for another bout with slumber. I wonder if he uses me as his private muse, or his phrenic concubine. If he uses me at all.

If only I knew...

The Society thinks I should be a man about it. You know, act as they do? I should emulate a man who could care less about the women that love him, or the women he left in misery after a fervent screw. I don't know how to be that way. I can act like I can sing and dance to it, but when I'm left alone, who am I? A woman who plays an imaginary game for imaginary gain? Doubt would haunt me in the shadows.

Pimp juice, anyone?

Is it really recreation? When I hear people talking about this alleged game, I notice they're unattached, flagrant or downright uninformed. With the exception of my PS2, I don't understand the instructions on how to play. My instructions were in Japanese. It's mentioned as if it were an actual event with announcers and major players. I think it's just a way for ones to shield hearts so bitter, lies become sweet tastes on the tongue. Untruths as delectable confectionery for the naive to sample and savor.

I wanted candy...

Now, I'm concluding all I want is one who understands what I'm trying to articulate at any given moment. So, what if I want to share any given moment with the incubus? In my own warped way, I want him to be worthy of that. But within that statement, is my desperation declared for someone who appears to want me, but yet perplexes me?

The Society says I should fall back, but fall back to what? Fall back into a pool of misguided, misinformed deviants to destroy my body and mind with overtones of the supposed game?


I think not.

Since January 2004...No, since November 2003, I've been elated, snubbed, fucked, and downright confounded by a man I just don't seem to quite understand.

Just when I think I have everything under control, the rug gets pulled from under me, and I've felt like I've said entirely too damn much.

Here's how it happened...

On November 1, 2003, my boyfriend of 4 years declared he no longer loved me. He continued to pour out his soul, claiming guilt for love he could not return. This came as a really big shock because, I thought everything was semi-tolerable. I screamed, issued death threats and just completely lost my mind. He just wants us to be friends. Yeah, sure...After 4 years of ego damaging remarks and bullshit. Yeah, let's be close friends.

Insert sarcasm here...

This is the kind of soul destructive denial I have exposed myself to for the last 10 years.


December 10, 2003...


I'd like to remember that as D-Day. The day I crossed paths with my incubus. The incubus is beautiful in every way possible. He's artistic, raunchy, sensitive, erotic, funny and imaginative. When he's in the mood. Sometimes, he confuses me into thinking I'm the only woman in his vast world, but then, he closes the door, only to throw me back in the queue of desperate women I've come to accept as his personal fan club.

Myself, I've never been attracted to this type of man, only because they were never attracted to me. I never bothered. I always chose men I've had a like humor with. A common bond. Best friends. Men who appreciate the seriousness of Akira. Men who knew the elation I felt when I bought my first iPod. Men who comprehend my geekiness as my sensuality. My cocoon. My power. My solace.

I've been captivated by the incubus since I've laid eyes on him. I wanted to give my soul over to him and I had no idea why. I even dubbed him as the one once.

What scares me about the incubus is this; He is a part of me in a way I can't explain. He accidentally happened into my life, like falling in front of a moving train. He inserted himself into my psyche like a lobotomy shot. I've been entangled with him intravenously ever since. He has some sort of hold on me I can't control.

Most people wouldn't understand a word I'm saying. He would.

That's the eerie part.

He understands the darkness I like to dwell in from time to time. He understands the loneliness I feel when I look into his eyes, knowing I will never be able to possess him. The incubus uses me for his bestial rapture.

When he touches me, he leaves bruises of flames across my skin. Obediently, I ask for the affliction over and over again while listening to his maniacal laughter. When he looks at me, I feel transparent. As if he can see every nerve ending bowing to his majesty. He says things to me that I've longed to hear, and then uses them against me in a power struggle over my heart and mind.

Why have I become a host to this incubus? I ask myself incessantly....

What kind of toy have I become?

When I met the incubus, he described one of his shortcomings as moodiness. Moody doesn't begin to explain the incubus. He can look at you with such adoration, your insides warm with the smoldering flame of devotion, and then utter something that can surround you within the confines of isolation.

I'm breakable around him. I've whispered love to him. I want to harness the incubus for my own. Everything about him, from his taste, to his smell, to the way he kisses my lips, make me lose all of the restraint I've gathered to fight him.

He is one seraphic creature. He makes all of my dreams seem like reality. He makes magic seem real. He makes me believe in fairy tales.

He also reminds me, there is a Boogeyman...


Why do I love him so?