His eyes

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His eyes- quicksand of glorious doing of Benzaiten- the goddess of everything that flows. Each time sucking me further in, each second obliterating any flickering hope of survival away from the clutches of his portals to his soul. The specks of brown within the hazel were like islands of rest in the middle of the raging ocean.. an ocean of chocolate. I tried to fight it, tried to come out triumphant, but I am not sure I managed. He was too strong, too caressing, too manipulating to be able to resist. The circular windows allowed me a peek of what is inside, of what would certainly be my fate, of what treachery he was able to concoct inherently. But I could not stand any longer. The withdrawal symptoms were overwhelming. The same weakness which drew me to his intellectual shelter of so called love and so called care, was the same weakness which caused me to become dependant. Dependant on the one thing I could not afford to allow to affect me. I had nothing left, and suddenly the stormy ocean seemed appealing. The quicksand seemed warmer than the cold repercussions of having to live without him. 

So I made my decision. 

Some call it self sacrifice.. but at this moment in time, I called it love to surpass all others. Oh how I wish I knew.