My Love is a Life Taker

He left her weak in the knees. But then, fucking against a brick wall will do that to you.

She went through life seeking new things to see but they never touched her. She merely observed and filed it away.

He went through life and saw things that spoke to him. Made him realize or think of something and then he would recount what he’d seen and what it had made him think. Like a holy text, they came out as stories that seemed too important to respond to with anything but an amen.

But that was the problem with him, he was an atheist. And the problem with atheists is that they don’t believe in original sin. And when you don’t believe in original sin, you can’t believe redemption.

“Here” he said, and feeling the compliance in her body, pushed her up to the rough bricks.

He demanded communication with people, with her, on an exhaustively personal level. Nothing short of raw ugly soul would do for him. Like watching a bitch eat the placenta when her pups are born.

He pushed with one hand her hip up and into him and with the other, the hair out of her face. He pushed, with his body, her into the wall. He kissed her. He bit her lip.

And she knew this was what saved him from her. His soul-blood lust was what allowed her to treat him as an equal, neither superior nor inferior to her. She recognized the same in herself, but manifested differently. She knew that is was okay with him, she couldn’t break him, make him hate her like the others she was so careful around. When people bare their souls to you they expect some kind of return. But like the new things she watched, she was untouched by the blood she drew.

It wasn’t personal. It was just the way she had to do things.