Put Your Clothes Back On

"Put your clothes back on," he said coldly. Sounding out the words even sent a chill down his own spine after he said them. The context of their implication was blunt, solid, and heavy.
It was like the air in the room had been seized, and her breath came under arrest. Naked, bare before him, open she was to him, and she had gestured to him welcomingly. But at the utterance of his dissapointed tone, the mood she had assumed to embroider between them had a heart attack, and deflated to defeat. A twisted look of confusion and pain broke out across her face.
They were gods. They were powerful, but they were first and foremost passionate, and they were powerful through their passion; two spirits of supreme life. They each were gods through poignant emotions, emotions that defined their very element of being. Glowing, shining, bursting with this individual element, each of them was. It altered the ground the walked on, the air that surrounded them. And the reach of the sun could not face their presence, but instead shy away from the space they occupied, while the moon and stars twinkled and shone with as much might as they could muster so they might appease these gods, and gain their favor.
Their meeting was inevitable, but their relation was a misunderstanding. Each assumed that the other shared their ultimate goal; a discovery that would bring meaning to their sorrow and loneliness. For their goal, too, was defined by the very essence that constructed the fibers of their being. Oh, how simular they had been. They so closely resembled one another, and their hopes and aspirations had blinded them to the finer details of who the other was.
But now He was blinded no more.
He was Romance. He was Purity. He was Truth. He had long been a sad and continuously dissapointed thing. It seemed every road he had taken to find his place in the world fell away under his feet, shattering all around him and leaving him hurt and bloodied. He always healed, because he had hope, but the scars would always remain. He figured, though, that the scars would be worth it and he would grow to appreciate them, because when he found the right path and finally found where he belonged, the prize would be well worth the struggle. He awaited the day he would be able to claim that pride, but first he had to find love.
One cannot have pride without love.
They met half under the stars and moon, half under the sun. They passed each other, each on their own path, which ran parallel, though they forgot to notice each was going in the opposite direction. Or perhaps they thought their destination was each other. They clashed, their elements combining and mixing so perfectly with one another. The chemistry was Divine, and if they intended to, for that moment, they could consume the entire universe with it.
But the chemistry was not yet complete and as the colors mixed to near consistency, he realized that she was not what he was seeking. She was far from it. She had made a move that was wrong to him, far too wrong and revealed to him who she really was. She wanted his sex, not him.
She was Lust. She was Desire. She was Selfish Gratification. To her, he was the great prize, the grand trophy. She knew he was not like the rest who had come before him, but didn't know why, didn't need to know why. She didn't need to understand him to sate her hunger. Opportunity was her prey, and there was no better hunter than she.
She too, now, was dissapointed; understanding that he would not let her have what she wanted. She was curious as to why, but only concerned herself with the question briefly before she sighed and shrugged her slender, bare shoulders and began to fade away like a cloud of mist in the wind. She was taking up her path yet again, and her essence withdrew from his. She would continue onwards, as she would forever, unrelenting, as long as shallow hearts existed.
He watched her go, and when he was left alone, yet again, he wondered why he should continue. Was he an oddity that was never meant to be? Perhaps he and she were kin, and he was the wrong one? Had he gone astray, seeking something that was pointless? Seeking a fantasy? Was he Foolish? Was he Naive? Yes, he surely was Naive, and this night proved that to him. He sat there for a long while, staring at the moon, which was now pale and dimly lit, ashamed to have witnessed every moment of his torment.
Why was it the world rejected his ideals? Why could reality not bend to his will, and allow his fantasy to come true? Something was holding the world back from understanding, from comprehending the greatness of his vision.
Perhaps it was Her...
- It would be so easy for me to point my finger in Her direction, but She's not to blame alone and I don't have enough fingers to point at the rest. -