White Queen

I see the tears in your eyes.

They refuse to fall.

I see the fear you hide behind tightly sealed iron doors.

Yet you do not falter to do what you deem is right.

You are brave to continue without a flinch of doubt gracing your features.

I see the way you move; how your shoulders slump; the way your ears are listening to intruders; the way your muscles tense at the mere sound of the air brushing against your face; how you fear an intake of breath will give you away; the way you are ready to fight for your very existence as your hand tightens around your weapon.

And you are part of a larger game, a game of which I am a pawn and you are a queen.

If only you were not so pure that the very thought of touching you would disintegrate me.

I should hate you; the very air you inhale and exhale should cloud my mind and pollute my system.

Instead, you cloud my judgement; you are my addiction, an addiction too dangerous for me to have, yet it keeps me alive.

For now.

You are the enemy; I should not care for you.

Yet I am too selfish to let you go despite our predicament.

I see the fear in your eyes, your tears finally streaming.

And you continue to fight with death lurking around every corner.

I envy your courage; the jealousy of your determination is eating me alive.

For I am not brave.

I am just a pawn and you are my queen, albeit my white queen.

My key to redemption.