Fifty Shades of White

Back in mid-January, I was just a normal girl living in Boston. I took the T to work, occasionally went for 2-3 mile runs outside, played volleyball and sometimes went out with friends. Then, one weekend, a powerful force entered my life.

I wasn’t looking for him. I didn’t ask for him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m helpless before him, completely overwhelmed by his power, at the mercy of his every cold, blustery whim. He’s so beautiful – I mean sometimes, I can’t even look at him, he shines so brightly. But he’s also dangerous and potentially soul-crushing. I want to resist him, but I just can’t.

He’s kept me in my house for weeks, dictated my wardrobe, controlled what I eat. He’s gotten me in touch with my inner goddess – she wears yoga pants, has perpetual hat head, and laughs at the thought of wearing anything but sturdy winter boots. He’s stolen my car from me and removed all of my transportation options. He’s kept me from calling my parents and friends, because really, what can I talk to them about that isn’t him? He’s my every thought.

He loves toys, especially the big plastic ones with reinforced steel – you know, the kind that, when you use them regularly for hours at a time, make your muscles tremble and your face flush. And you have to keep coming back to them – their siren call is just one tempestuous storm away.

He’s beaten me down, but every day, I reach out to him, believing that if I just try a little harder, his soul will thaw and soften, and the warmth of a spring rain will wash over us both.

But he remains hard and cold and beautiful. Why doesn’t he change? Why can’t he see that the world would be better if he just lightened up a little bit?

It must be me.

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