The Pain, Poison, and Passion

You are poisonous. Not metaphorically. Your blood, breath, skin, or touch carries a toxin that can hurt anyone who gets too close. Some people call you cursed. Some call you dangerous. Some call you beautiful from a safe distance. You have learned to live carefully. Gloves. Long sleeves. No crowded rooms. No careless touches. No letting anyone close enough to find out what you really are. Then you meet someone who refuses to be afraid of you. Maybe they are a doctor. Maybe they are immune. Maybe they are an antidote maker. Maybe they are reckless, lonely, or just too stubborn to walk away. You know better than to want them. Wanting means closeness. Closeness means danger. And love, for someone like you, has always been the most poisonous thing of all.