Day 5: Bingley

I like being in control. If love means letting go, who is strong enough to pry my fingers open?

I like being able to see through people. Dare I even brag, but I enjoy anticipating people’s moves as if we were on a chessboard.

Men demand I play the demure woman, as if a Scarlett could ever become a Melanie! Ha!

They want a Helen of Troy, but I’m Cassandra.

I squirm out of the pigeon holes they try to place me in. I won’t play nice to cater to their egos. I won’t cover over their insecurities when they have failed. They ask me to respect them like men, when they make play at being a man, all the while avoiding bleeding like a real one. They chaff as I dictate the rules of engagement. They fear me. As they should. They resent me. But, it is not my problem they are weaker than I.

I thought you’d be just as easy to predict and control.

But, time and again you defy me. You don’t come when I call. But when I turn, suddenly you’re a breath away.

You throw me off balance. I hate that.

Your gentle gaze unnerves me.

Your soft sway disarms me.

Your words are quiet, but they have the roar of many waters behind them.

Your strength is like a blade of grass growing out of concrete.

And before I knew what I was doing, before I could stop myself, my fingers opened to you.

Love,
February

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