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One could not be above everything without believing it so.
One is not born superior. One is born naked and vulnerable.
One is born fearing and crying, crashing into the world despite everything.
Of course, it is another thing if one is born not crying.
From birth, one had to be strong and bear burdens far beyond one's years.
If One is born a saviour, One must act like it.
One must believe it wholly and One must never falter in that act.
One must be superior to all if One is to protect all.
One must never let go of that.
The thing about superiority is it feels intoxicating.
You feel it radiate from your chest to your fingertips. You hide in it the way your eyes crinkle, and you smile and laugh just like them.
But you know you are better.
It is a fact, borne from divine ordinance.
And you are no one to refuse destiny.
The intoxication, like all other substances, is not without adverse effects.
It feels claustrophobic, to act like them. To not act how you are meant to be.
You tone yourself down, you pretend their jokes are the funniest things in the world, and that their narrow world view is all there is.
But you hate it.
The bitterness rises from your heart, as had the superiority.
It is wispy, fluid; hiding when you need it to but ever present.
You control it.
You cannot let your brightness be dimmed by it.
Resentment is a foreign word, yet oh so familiar.
It is in a story meant to teach the rest about right and wrong.
It feels insulting to sit and nod, when you are virtues incarnate.
The way that word lodges in your throat is uncomfortable but oh so familiar.
You go back to listening. It is all you can do to ignore it.
The darkness is bigger now. Your brightness has grown too.
It's fine. It's fine that you look at everyone with secret contempt and that you feel alone in a room full of people.
Destiny has willed it so.
And you cannot fight against destiny.
He comes into your life, barrelling like a comet. All bright and fast, so much so you want to run after him.
It is new. It is bold. It is something to offer you reprieve from the depths of your darkness.
So you run after him.
It is the first time you'll truly chase anything.
He is beautiful, in a way you didn't know was possible. He is all rough edges and unpolished sides. You are smooth like a bar of gold.
Yet, he seems more enchanting to you.
The darkness curls again.
He does not concern himself with being perfect. He knows of his imperfection and still he strides forward.
He is foolish.
Being perfect is the only way to be loved.
His mistakes are endearing. He stumbles over his words, he is impulsive and he is imperfect and he is everything you are not.
You are perfect, in all forms.
You are above him.
The pit in your heart grows wider.
He loves you. He adores you. He begs to be yours.
As he should.
You relax, back in your rightful place.
Above everyone else.
The moon for all its borrowed brilliance still has a dark side.
It is only a problem when it shows that darkness on its bright side.
Love is never static. Not for you.
He says he loves you. You believe him.
Everyone loves you.
It is as natural as a man breathing.
So you tune it out.
But that annoying thing rings in your ear.
You do not acknowledge that you are blushing.
It is beneath you.
He is an endlessly fascinating creature, with a heart bigger than a whale.
He is in love with the world, it's beauty, and with love itself.
It disgusts you.
If he loves everything, how will he remember that you are special?
He is beneath you, begging ever so prettily.
You hate him for it.
You hate the way he is so pathetic underneath you. You hate the way he is so vulnerable.
He should know better.
It should matter not that he trusts you more than anyone.
Being vulnerable is the way one gets hurt.
And the fool is baring himself to you.
"You like that, don't you?" You coo. You hate how you sound. You sound close to desperation. You sound exactly like him.
The pace you've set is fast and rough, hurting just right.
"Yes-yes-ah-yours-ah-"
That should've sounded like music to your ears.
It just sounds grating now.
He is just like everyone else. He is grovelling cause you can give him something.
You are above everyone, yet you've never felt more like a convenient object.
"Of course you're mine. Everything in this world belongs to me." Venom is creeping in your voice and you so desperately tamp it down.
He cannot know.
He will not understand your vitriol.
He will only leave.
"Yes-you're-god please-please-you're so perfect."
You want to choke him.
You want to wrench out every tongue who ever spoke that word and burn it.
You hate it. You have always hated it. There is a fire burning in the hollow of your chest as you try to control yourself.
"Don't forget slut, you can't come. Not until I permit you."
You do not look into his beautiful tear-filled eyes.
You are worried he will look at the darkness within.
You wish you were freed. You wish you weren't who you were.
"Please-please-I've been good-please-"
The hatred in your heart has never hurt so much.
If he had been good he would've been perfect.
Perfection is the only way to be useful.
To be useful is to be loved.
You do not acknowledge that you want to be loved.
A fish doesn't acknowledge that it needs water. It simply takes it.
You set a harsher pace.
He is crying so freely, you almost wish to add to his misery.
But you don't.
"Go on then. Cum for me."
He comes with a cry and collapses, his chest rising and falling like waves.
It is mesmerising and you want to never look at it again.
You do not want to admit someone other than you could be the most beautiful.
He looks up at you with devotion and adoration.
"I love you. You are everything I love."
Something in you breaks.
Tears threaten to spill as something thick rises in your throat.
You don't show it.
"Let me take care of you."
You bring over a wet rag as he looks at you.
He is innocent in so many ways.
You run it over him carefully.
He is like a dandelion, beautiful and ephemeral.
You come close to admitting that you love him.
You cannot live with yourself.
You cannot understand how you are meant to be perfect with so much hatred for someone who deserves your adoration tenfold.
He is beauty in its raw form and you are but a worthless piece of metal, polished to be perfect but not beautiful.
Your heart cracks into a million pieces.
You do not let it show.
You smile as you gently wipe his chest. The crinkle in your eyes hold all the love you do not wish to acknowledge.
Alongside it resides the knowledge that you are wholly unworthy of this blind puppy love.
You so desperately wish he never learns of this.
You can be truly perfect for him. You want to leave him never wanting for anything.
The small peck he leaves on your head fills you with so much warmth.
You are an unworthy being, and he loves you anyway.
You may be above him, but you know your heart pales in comparison to his.
He is so beautiful.
You are so rotten.
You just hope nobody ever sees it.
And as you kiss him back, you hope he only ever sees how you love him.