Work Text:
A black mood. It doesn't really begin to describe the color or the emotion. There is just void of feeling. A void positively overflowing with a putrid stench of pure emotion. The darkest spot in the human condition. A feeling of ineffectualness beyond insecurity and self hatred. A feeling that one will never be more, do more, exist in a space of moreness. A hole that cannot be filled with any one persons love or positivity or good will. That was where she existed. A brain full of ideas and thoughts and stories and dreams and imaginings with no one to hear or care about any of it. No one asked what her black moods were about. So much more than self pity it was self abhoration. A feeling that while there was all this possible good it was all unattainable. A spiritual connection to the whole fucking universe - separated - by some unseen wall. The most sullen version of herself, a secret. All the wild sex and romances and stories of existential beliefs that would never and could never be written in a way that would be absorbed by anyone. That was what she wanted. A connection to... A revelation of... A seeking for... something that was more than any one human being could ever try to do, be, feel, lose, learn, talk about. Even those who were her dreamed about...not the men, no never the men...the characters. Characters written by women who were of like mind and therefore not the real men she imagined them to be at all.
She is whatever beauty is to you...not any sort of skin to be reflected in a mirror but the beauty inside your mind. That woman. She who is woman in every sense ever desired by any man. Strength, power, creation, intelligence, humor, compassion, empathy, anger, development...woman. It is her story. It's emotional, and fluctuating, hormonally charged and constantly adapting. Can you see her? Can you imagine her? That is who we are talking about.
She wants him...the blond, blue eyed comical boy who laughs with dimples and mouth agape. Romantic and ageless. Tender and full of dreams and the desire to achieve them.
She wants him...the rebel with the attitude and the drive to be out loud and in front and charging madly at all that society requires of him.
She wants him...with the brain, and the knowledge and the history and the answers, learning and seeking and sharing and encouraging her to feel his excitement.
She wants him...with the body, and the brawn and the work ethic and the day to day commitment that creates stability and security and a sense of protection.
She wants him...who drives her wild with his flashing eyes and thick black hair and serious moods and flaring temper that covets her and uses her to achieve pleasure in the fire.
She wants him...the green eyed boy who has been damaged and abandoned who needs her to heal and be the safe haven in his world of constant torment.
She wants him...the artist, the writer, the poet, the architect...striving to build and make and create a world that fits his imaginings of a muse and it's almost like her.
She wants...and her wanting creates the void. That painful realization of a man that cannot ever be what she wants and in her solitude and solidarity she creates the black mood. The only thing that ever really fills her is the emptiness. Can you see her?