Addicted to a Drama Queen

I cannot stand her. But I’m crazy about her.
I met her a couple of months ago, at a common friend’s party. She looked like a diva in that bright red dress, which barely grazed her thigh. Matching high heels and noisy gold accessories made sure everyone noticed her as she entered.

I was floored by her easy grace and expressive eyes. I couldn’t help but stare. 

She too gave me her share of attention. She met her eyes with mine, as intensely as a panther who has found his prey. That encouraged me to make a move. And I did.
Its been two months since that night, and it has been a roller coaster.

Every time I hug her, I dread it might be the last time I ever will. You don’t know for sure what’s on her mind. Maybe the next fight will be because you hugged her too hard.
I must do as I am told. Understand how she feels, even though I dont.

I feel like a slave, encaged by her emotions. She will let me out as she pleases. Lock me back in for reasons I won’t even know. And the she will walk away.

We have had 5 break-ups in these couple of months, and she leaves me shattered and every time. Sometimes guilty, sometimes clueless, always helpless.
But when she’s back, she’s more passionate than the last. Irresistible. She makes me feel like there’s no stronger man in this world than I. I am her sole friend, her sole protector.
There is nobody else who can make her happy.
I am the center of her universe.

And I like that.

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