I never hated him. Although words can seem powerful, and I've the words I need when I want them. Within, I loved him. Outwards I could never show it. At first it was habit. Later out of necessity. And all the while he was there with me.

What makes an individual stay when all else screams to leave? To go away. That you are not loved. How could he see past my cruel anger and horrendous words. And further more, how could he love me?

Perhaps it began with his insistence. His utter stubbornness dominating my self-composure. Slowly he broke through my carefully errected barriers and began to touch my heavily-guarded soul. And love? Love. Why did he love me?

God! Why did he love me?

And then, what of myself? Every little attention I adorned him with sparked the kindling of his hope. Even to my barrage of hateful comments towards his music. To the careful lyrics he wrote with such utter passion.

That is one thing he most certainly is. He is full to the brim with passion. An intense passion for life expounded in limitless energy. Molded into love and directed to me.

No, I didn't deserve it. I never did. And yet, still, he was there.

And I loved him back. Without words. Without hope. He knew me more than I knew myself, loved me more than I could understand, and persistently sought me out.

How he annoyed me! His presence embodying a pure essence of energy. And fullness. I squirmed beneath the fires he lit, venting rageful anger unfoundedly. Such evil I created by uttering those words. No one deserves such cruelty. And when I loved him enough, I said them all the more. Hoping to drive him away. Driving a painful cross into my heart... my soul.

But...

If ever one could heat glass and create a magnificent construction from its destruction, it was he that could do so. He brought me to life. And when it was time, after I had hurt him the most, the last, he would still come for me. And I, finally ready for the change that had already been taking place unbeknownst to myself, would welcome him. Love him. And return to him.

A warrior cannot stay too long from the warmth of his home. And I had been gone far long enough. My battles were over, not the memories, never the memories. My heart came for me, loved me, and left to prepare the hearth for me. For us.

And I can no longer turn him away, for I am his. This I learned too late. A dangerous truth, and one only spoken in love. Spoken amongst roses and satin. Between kisses and tender touches.

It is when I am there, looking in his eyes, seeing the warmth of love and the fires of passion I understand. Here is where I will always belong. If he is willing to sacrifice all for me, for what I am, then I can only hurt him by denying my own feelings. Hurt myself as well. And now, there is no sense to. Not now.

Because what I see in his eyes, is home.