Her love was chaotic. It was unpredictable and desperate. She loved in a panic: urgently, pleading. She loved him with the intensity of someone who is always saying goodbye. And as certainly as she knew he’d leave, she knew his leaving would devastate her.
Even with this knowledge she couldn’t stop herself from going back for more. She was addicted to him. She tried to consume as much of him as possible without tumbling into the obsessive abyss. She pushed herself to the limits of what she could take of him and what she could suffer from him and always found that she hadn’t gotten enough. She could not be satisfied.
Then one day, her love spun out of control. She convinced herself that perhaps the limits were a facade, perhaps there was no sense in restraint, perhaps the idea of restraint was the very thing that held her back and kept him out of her grasp.
So she loved with abandon. She loved dangerously. She gave everything without thought of loss or consequence, without any thought of herself or what she needed. She gave him herself completely.
Her panic disappeared and she felt calm. She was his. She had no wants of her own. She was fulfilled in her sacrifice. But it was momentary. It was a fleeting calm.
When she gave him everything, she had nothing left for him to love. She disappeared. He did not want a shell; he wanted a woman. He did not want a flat mirror; he wanted ripples to reflect his dreams and help them sparkle. He wanted water to drench his soul, to drown his foul demons, to quench his thirst.
To him she’d been his water — sometimes cool and refreshing; sometimes ice cold and brutal; sometimes steamy and scalding but he loved her chaos and how she challenged him and made him feel something forceful. To bring moderation to her temperature spikes made him feel strong and in control. It energized him and gave his life the purpose and drive he’d been seeking.
But she was gone. She lost herself in him and lost him to the world. He needed the way she needed him. He needed the way her flaws reminded him of his own. The way her crazy panic at losing him inspired him to always want return to her. He was always seeking reunion. His capacity for loving her reminded him he was capable of more than just the ordinary. But somehow she disappeared. All her needs and wants dried up. She needed nothing. She wanted nothing. She was repulsive in her appeasing. She was a shadow he could so easily forget about.
He needed the way she needed him, the way he felt her wanting him as if her life depended on him. She gave him everything and, keeping nothing for herself, she’d run out of love to give.