This book is written in Two POV's
The wife, Beverly Antonio
The Seducer, Liliana Antonio
CHAPTER 1
BEVERLY
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"I sleep everyday knowing I deserve him not. Yet, I wake up by his side."
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My love, If you wanted to see me in chains, you could have simply asked. I would have worn it for you, and be delighted in it, as though it was a bangle made of the rawest diamonds.
I have always belonged to you. What is a metal compared to a bleeding heart? I am free, still your slog. I might as well wear this and show the world what I really am. A pilgrim in your holy place where you are forever God, and I am forever on Pilgrimage.
I would love thousands of people today, millions tomorrow, and the next, maybe not. Nevertheless, their will always be you, that ceaseless attraction, that supreme desire, one that will always be constant. Maybe because it is unfulfilled, or because you have fed it with nothing, or maybe because out of it all, amongst every attraction, yours has been the most unexpected, as incomprehensible as it is banned.
Abiding fear, pain and everything draining, yet for the love of me I cannot end the terror of it, neither can you. My heart is your slave, but my body craves freedom, and you, you refuse my service, and you reject my freedom. My very own eternal bane.
Who can replace you? No one. In my heart, you are all powerful, immortal, untouchable, omnipotent. You are this world to me, and I shall never have you just as I shall never conquer the world.
If I do by chance overcome the world then you will become the sun, out of my reach, blazing destructible fire. Still, I shall come for you, watching my body burn, setting my soul on fire, a feeling not new because away from you is much more affliction.
If I do get to the sun with bones smiling if anything remains that is, you will assume the form of the heavens. Then I would be unable to reach for you, for heaven itself is the first enemy of my love for you and it would build a mighty gate to keep me from you.
Yet, for the love that is Alive, and things that would perish, if there be a God I would wrestle him to get to you. I would battle until I die, even after, for my thirst has become a person of its own, and has taken to its own form; deathless, perpetual. Thus, It shall wander this world, and imaginably in a thousand years the gate of heaven shall open to me and I will see you again. Or this pain would be the beginning of a new world.
"Pay me no mind my love." Oh! I do not need to say this as you don't already, but I desire to say it for the very reason I write this. I cannot for the love of me think when it comes to you. Instability, vulnerability, recklessness they are all very real words as you are my very real, very alive death.
I write and they say, "oh! How beautiful". Beautiful? Beautiful is you. You are the only thing that can lay claim to this word. But, I shall stop here. I do not want to bore my audience.
Next time when I see you with another I would cry my eyes to sleep, or I would pretend that I feel nothing. Either way MY LOVE, KNOW THAT I WOULD DROWN!
Love, Pain, Desire, Passion, name them all. They are a writers' cocaine, a writers' 100 percent alcoholic Italian wine, a writers' hard drug. Substance abuse is necessary sometimes for inspiration. Oh! Well aren't we all just insane. What more can a drug do? Maybe expose our Lunacy?
Closes my eyes, and smiles as I speak the truth only to my own ears. "You are my drug. You are all of these emotions in flesh.”
And now I would burn this paper just as I am forced to live everyday denying, and masking these feelings.
___Emiliano
There are words which I hold dear to my heart. Words with plain meaning, simple in its bearing, yet strung to heart wrenching, heart-warming feelings that leave you be as a body of emotions, varying in words as they are similar in sensation. Those words all belong to Emiliano.
Emiliano gave life to the popular saying, “Fall in love with a writer and you will become a god.” A writer, only for me. Just for me as he was for me both in body and in soul.
I have read this letter more times than I have studied my cooking recipes, yet for the love of God I still couldn't get enough of it even though I knew each word by heart.
Even if I could recite it so smoothly as though it was to me children's poetry.
Every time I see his perfect handwriting just like everything he was, faultless; sewn and threaded seamlessly into words that cause the heart to yearn for eternal desire I could not stop my heart from fluttering.
However, with the butterflies comes a gigantic hand that clutches onto it, pressing down on my heart, subduing its gladness.
I know what everyone knows to be true. I do not deserve the man lying by my side. I do not deserve even a strand of his black hair as dark as the Abyss of which symbolizes our love.
Yet, here he was just like every other time refusing to leave my side as though I were the air he breathes, and the only thing that holds value in his world.
Every day I try to convince myself with the words of assurance he constantly utters. I make an attempt solemnly in the busiest of my day and in the silence of the quiet, to believe that just maybe I was given a lucky charm in this life Because, in the last I had endured a fate worse than death.
But that would mean me believing in reincarnation and even if I did I would have lived all of my life's loving him, My husband.
From the first time I set my eyes on him I knew it to be true that souls do hold recognition of lovers far before, in lifetimes the spirit cannot in due course remember.
Therefore, I could not believe in the false hope of faithful redemption in this life. So if it not be that why in all seven hells am I married to Emiliano. Why does he love me like he does.
The night holds no answer. The moon is silent and in the morning so will the sun. Only Emiliano could render answers to my dying questions, and He has none to give me as he has none even for himself.