It was an embrace too awkward to be sexy and too intimate to be anything other than love. They made jokes about how she was a frog perched on his lap, and in those jokes she knew her sorrow was not his burden. His refusal to shift to her mood, and his insistence at laughter left no room for her heart to frown. But still an anxious beat hit double-time in her chest.
He knew she was not hard to read, but he would have known her even if she was. His arms encircled her froggy spine and he lay his forehead gently on hers tilting it ever so slightly back and forth so his eyes crossed at odds with his face. She giggled helplessly.
She yearned for words of love and admiration but she knew instinctively they would not be believed if he gave them in response to her asking. So she sat in her own ant hill feeling the gentle crawl of the mound begin to swarm and overtake her. No easy answer. No comfort found in circumstance or skin. No way out.
Whether through osmosis (third-eyes still resting unceremoniously on each other) or by his knowing of her breath, the tension in her body, he knew the fears that choked words below her throat and above her heart. A mutiny was beginning in her stomach led by beautiful winged insects.....
"I can love you when you don't love yourself," he said. "There are people who will love you and believe in you when you don't believe in yourself."
The relief began to melt and curl up, a plastic bag slowly catching fire. He pulled his head back a bit "But none of it will matter until you truly love yourself."
Later as the day moved on as life does and profound words become memorable hiccups, she thought with the wisdom of a woman no longer lost in the fairy tale of youthful passion, "This is love."
The next day he told her he could no longer see a future with her. When she could not see herself his vision of their future together was veiled. She thought with the wisdom of a woman no stranger to loss, "That is life."
He knew she was not hard to read, but he would have known her even if she was. His arms encircled her froggy spine and he lay his forehead gently on hers tilting it ever so slightly back and forth so his eyes crossed at odds with his face. She giggled helplessly.
She yearned for words of love and admiration but she knew instinctively they would not be believed if he gave them in response to her asking. So she sat in her own ant hill feeling the gentle crawl of the mound begin to swarm and overtake her. No easy answer. No comfort found in circumstance or skin. No way out.
Whether through osmosis (third-eyes still resting unceremoniously on each other) or by his knowing of her breath, the tension in her body, he knew the fears that choked words below her throat and above her heart. A mutiny was beginning in her stomach led by beautiful winged insects.....
"I can love you when you don't love yourself," he said. "There are people who will love you and believe in you when you don't believe in yourself."
The relief began to melt and curl up, a plastic bag slowly catching fire. He pulled his head back a bit "But none of it will matter until you truly love yourself."
Later as the day moved on as life does and profound words become memorable hiccups, she thought with the wisdom of a woman no longer lost in the fairy tale of youthful passion, "This is love."
The next day he told her he could no longer see a future with her. When she could not see herself his vision of their future together was veiled. She thought with the wisdom of a woman no stranger to loss, "That is life."
