A Little Fiction
She knelt and whispered "I love you" close to his ear, so only he could hear. She said it softly like a prayer. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she said, but I hate you she thought. From here on in it gets harder. From here on in it is gritty: the shit and the tears. I love you and have loved you, she thought, but she knew that he had all of a sudden become real. He was. Yes, he was.
For now he was more than just her love, that had passed.
He frowned. He wouldn't laugh. He was sick, he mentioned. She was concerned and tried to rub his fever away.
He turned away disinterested.
What happened? She wanted it to be ok because it was true, she loved him. But, she hadn't counted on his inaccessibility, his rapid retreat. His sickness was his mantra. She turned away.
All the while the sky was clear and blue, the breeze crisp. She turned away, disinterested, a perversion as she had made him sick.
Her disinterest was the real perversion. Her need to run away. She loved him but she worried if that was enough to get her through. If that was enough to nurse her through the times when he simply did not have enough to give. She could give, if there was only one thing in this world, she could give. But, with a brave face and a headache she trudged on.
She was filled with fear she wasn't enough. Above all else she feared his temporary disinterest because the sickness would only grow and would one day become his complacent attitude towards her. And she couldn't bear it.
And as she sat in the bedroom she knew there was only one thing to fear -his apathy. With that she would be destroyed. The deepening mass of ideas killed the optimism in her brain.
She burned as she mulled her fate. She burned alhtough she never did as if the sunshine was spite and rage for her hysterical thoughts.
In the end she fled. She fled fearing the vileness that could spew from her mouth. Fearing the burgeoning cancer that sat in the pit of her stomache, she left. She gave him a kiss and prayed he would forgive her. Prayed for his sickness caused by her health and for leaving his side when she should have stayed.
Her apathy was the perversion. She whispered "I love you" and meant it but also knew that was what she was supposed to say.
She just wasn't brave.
For now he was more than just her love, that had passed.
He frowned. He wouldn't laugh. He was sick, he mentioned. She was concerned and tried to rub his fever away.
He turned away disinterested.
What happened? She wanted it to be ok because it was true, she loved him. But, she hadn't counted on his inaccessibility, his rapid retreat. His sickness was his mantra. She turned away.
All the while the sky was clear and blue, the breeze crisp. She turned away, disinterested, a perversion as she had made him sick.
Her disinterest was the real perversion. Her need to run away. She loved him but she worried if that was enough to get her through. If that was enough to nurse her through the times when he simply did not have enough to give. She could give, if there was only one thing in this world, she could give. But, with a brave face and a headache she trudged on.
She was filled with fear she wasn't enough. Above all else she feared his temporary disinterest because the sickness would only grow and would one day become his complacent attitude towards her. And she couldn't bear it.
And as she sat in the bedroom she knew there was only one thing to fear -his apathy. With that she would be destroyed. The deepening mass of ideas killed the optimism in her brain.
She burned as she mulled her fate. She burned alhtough she never did as if the sunshine was spite and rage for her hysterical thoughts.
In the end she fled. She fled fearing the vileness that could spew from her mouth. Fearing the burgeoning cancer that sat in the pit of her stomache, she left. She gave him a kiss and prayed he would forgive her. Prayed for his sickness caused by her health and for leaving his side when she should have stayed.
Her apathy was the perversion. She whispered "I love you" and meant it but also knew that was what she was supposed to say.
She just wasn't brave.