When he'd reached where she was, he approached her gently, whispering the few words he could find. They'd been playing it so long. they didn't realize that there was life beyond the goal line. They stood in front of each other, her eyes welling up at the ability to feel love again. But his were of no tenderness or warmth. Instead, she found eyes full of misery. A man worn thin by effort without definite end. She had expected the visage of a lover. But a lover would not be so miserable to find another. The game had broken her opponent. Once a man madly infatuated, had become an old soul, numb to anything she could give to him, well-meaning or not. And she realized that there was no prize at the bottom of the box. For either of them. It was a lifeless concentration of all the frustrations long past that left scars. Scars they would trace over and over to remember the particular heartache that sadists find momentary fulfillment in.
And when she tried to find the source of the heartache, she found the same traps she had laid. The same silences and arguments. Except that the bitterness of his spite filled her lungs whenever she walked near him. Their game of persistance had become a game of revenge. And so they parted ways as an attempt at peace, still hoping to one day find the good in each other. Trusting nothing but destiny itself to the reigns of their lives.
I don't know what to say except I felt way too connected to it. :)
ReplyDeleteDude...you're an amazing writer.
ReplyDeleteThis is the most amazing post I've read in quite some time. I'm falling in love with the voice yet hating it at the same time because words like these should be presented with a certain silence.
ReplyDeleteLove always,
F