There’s glass all over the floor, and there’s water sinking in to the carpet. Pretty fast too. There’s a large dark blot on the beige fabric where a visible puddle was 30 seconds ago.
Keep your hands off me, and my burdened soul.
He stared at her, wondering what the hell she meant. Growing sicker of her erratic behavior by the second. Wishing she’d sit down, and relax. But he knew no matter how much he tried, he’d be unable to subdue her.
He hadn’t touched her, but he was sure wishing he could find a way to knock some sense into her.
God she was sexy, but she felt so much, and it was all so loud.
She was looking at him like he was a dog who shit on the carpet, a toddler who licked a handrailing, like he was some sort of monster. Her brown eyes seemed darker than they typically were. The color of wood in the heat of a fire, except in the place of the red flames was all the passion from nature responsible for them.
His head was spinning. What were his options? She was growing impatient, waiting to pounce on him and make him a martyr for his indecision. He could feel her anxiety beneath his skin, how did she get there? Projection at its finest.
You are the most selfish person I know.
She raised her voice. Not too loud, but above a whisper. She was a boiling pot. Louder and more shaky as she got hotter.
No no. Stop. He thought. Too late.
His eyes scanned her body, he prayed she didn’t notice. He studied the curve of her waist after the image was pressed into his mind and saved for later. He suppressed an ich to smile thinking of her small body’s warmth.
I don’t know what to say.
He said. Knowing full well she wouldn’t believe him. Knowing how wrong it was to wish for her to be just a little less human.
And she, she is waiting for him to say how he feels. For months he’s been a mystery, but she knows within him there is something good. But she’s losing herself in the struggle of extracting it.
She wants to move on, and let go, but she wants to be held, and validated. And he’s so close, but so distant.
How can she wait for the right one to come along? She’s afraid to be alone.
She knows he wants to say something. That he loves her, that he hates her, something earth shattering, something fo make life worth living. How could he lie to her. Why?
She just wants to be comforted, to be praised, to feel whole. And she wants him to feel the same way. Wasn’t it the right way? If not, what was?
She wondered if it was all her fault. If she was the reason he looked like he was always suffering.
She tried to calm herself, but instead the endless possibilities that could trail the present altercation filled her mind. Overwhelmed her.
What is wrong with me?
And he felt more confused, and used. He gave her everything he had, and it wasn’t enough. How hard could it be to just relax?
And she wondered why it was so hard for him to express a bit of empathy. He couldn’t possibly understand her.
They were speaking different languages. They were coming from different places. Heading in different directions. Always waiting for the carpet to absorb the water so glass could shatter the next day, or week, or month.
Loving one another just a little less every time they seemed the slightest bit too human. Wanting to walk away as soon as the other seems the slightest bit too human.
Still trying. Still falling asleep mumbling
I love you
Let’s never do this again.
Still hoping for true love. Not discouraged quite yet.
Just waiting for it to all be over.