Love being loved

I loved being loved.  I mean I literally love being loved. There is no better feeling than to be the center of his universe. Even for just a snapshot in time.

And I am not just some naive, disillusioned girl. I was the center of his universe because it was chaos and burning ashes all around him. He was surrounded by violence. And anger. And hate. And I .... I was like an unexpected summer breeze at night. Something gentle, and wonderful and something he didn't know he needed until he had it.

And I was loved. I truly was. Smack dab center of his world. Nothing else mattered.  He could only feel me. No one else was beautiful. He only saw me. He heard no other voice. He could only hear me.

My flaws weren't flaws, they were battle wounds and God he loved each and every one of them.

And then the walls inside of him came down. Then the walls outside of him came down. He saw the world. It was fast. And busy. And colorful. And loud.

And then he discovered. He no longer loved me. And I am no longer loved. And I hate that.