08-23-2020, 06:52 PM
── and i was never sure whether you were the lighthouse or the storm ──
She is almost grateful that she cannot see him. That she does not have to stare at his impassive face, that she does not have to see how no matter what she does or says, he does not spare her a glimpse of anything below the surface.
He has always been like granite, locking her out, refusing even to let her seep through the cracks.
She is used to that, has come to expect it, and truthfully hardly knows what to do with anything else. She has never been and never would be the kind that sought grand gestures of emotion. She did not need to hear kind words, and she could last longer than she cared to without kindness.
But not forever.
She is a fool, but she tries not to be. She looks for love where it does not, or cannot exist, but even she eventually learns when to stop trying. He offered her nearly nothing; he discarded any attempt she made at creating anything beyond just meaningless sex.
He locked her out, but no matter how she numbs herself to it, she cannot simply undo the years and years of trying to love someone that did not want to be loved.
“Why wouldn’t I care?” There is almost something there, almost something that breaks through the numbness and brings color back to the monochrome of her voice. Her face is angled back to him now, and something inside of her chest starts to tremble. It’s a foreign emotion, but when it hits her tongue, it almost tastes like anger. “If one of us could ever be accused of not caring, I don’t think it would be me.”
She moves towards him because she cannot help herself. In the dark, the space between them feels like miles, though it is only steps. She doesn’t try to touch him, decides that she does not feel like swallowing that rejection right now, but she is close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. “I will always care,” she says quietly, knowing that he will likely toss that aside as quickly as everything else she has offered him.
He has always been like granite, locking her out, refusing even to let her seep through the cracks.
She is used to that, has come to expect it, and truthfully hardly knows what to do with anything else. She has never been and never would be the kind that sought grand gestures of emotion. She did not need to hear kind words, and she could last longer than she cared to without kindness.
But not forever.
She is a fool, but she tries not to be. She looks for love where it does not, or cannot exist, but even she eventually learns when to stop trying. He offered her nearly nothing; he discarded any attempt she made at creating anything beyond just meaningless sex.
He locked her out, but no matter how she numbs herself to it, she cannot simply undo the years and years of trying to love someone that did not want to be loved.
“Why wouldn’t I care?” There is almost something there, almost something that breaks through the numbness and brings color back to the monochrome of her voice. Her face is angled back to him now, and something inside of her chest starts to tremble. It’s a foreign emotion, but when it hits her tongue, it almost tastes like anger. “If one of us could ever be accused of not caring, I don’t think it would be me.”
She moves towards him because she cannot help herself. In the dark, the space between them feels like miles, though it is only steps. She doesn’t try to touch him, decides that she does not feel like swallowing that rejection right now, but she is close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. “I will always care,” she says quietly, knowing that he will likely toss that aside as quickly as everything else she has offered him.
ryatah
