Somehow, he mused, he always knew
that he loved her more.
It
was easily dismissed at first. She returned his love; maybe not to the same
depth or richness, but she loved him.
In
her own way, she loved him.
In
the beginning, he had caught fire from the feeling of knowing that no matter that triviality, she had given him her
heart. And he was lucky, and blessed. He wanted her so badly that he would take
what he could get.
But
did they fall in love simply because they were two single, lonely people with
aches and hurts that begged for companionship? Did they fall in love because
they both happened to be standing there,
at that particular moment?
Some
days, when the pain started the blur the edges of his love, he could read her
mind. He happened to be standing in front of her and so she pitched her fancy
on him. Poor damn fool; he fell for her, hard. And how could he not? He defied
anyone to not fall in love with a
beautiful, sexy, intelligent, talented woman.
Even
after he got to know her…he still loved her.
'Still'
is a word that implies doubt. As if there were some way of turning back to
begin with. There was. There always had been. But he had gotten so caught up it
the mystery of it all that he allowed the whirlwind to overtake him. He allowed
himself to be lost in her smile, in the flashing of her eyes. He allowed
himself to be wounded by her temper and cut by her callous words, so he could
grow all the more closer to her.
In
time, he'd win her over. She might not love him now, as he loved her, but his
persistence and pure love for her would win her over. She would wake up one day
and realize how she loved him…and how she couldn't be without him.
She
knew that she loved him. But she could read his mind. Or rather, his heart. He
had handed it to her so trustingly, and she was barely woman enough to know
what to do with it. A man had handed
her his heart; she was only a girl. What was she to do with it? She summoned
all the wisdom that she could and tried to act with a poise and confidence
beyond her years; besides which, a poise and confidence she truly did not feel.
She liked him well enough; he was her best friend and was the only being on
Earth who knew her so well, but she was only seeking refuge. He was a safe port
before the storm; she would stay with him for a while.
But
something changed. Her heart softened towards him and she fell in love with
him. Maybe he did love her more, but
she still cared deeply about it. She didn't want to hurt him.
And
now the responsibility of having his heart in her care weighed on her, every
moment, of every day. She yearned for freedom, but quietly told herself that
such a thing was past. She could not bear to hurt him; so many in his past had
already abused him. She was whole, and he was only partial. She had to give,
and give, to fill him. Her love for him started to turn into duty; the fire and
vim was dying fast.
She
was dying too.
He loved her more.
When
he touched her, he could feel his love surround the both of them, holding them
up and strengthening them. The color of his love dazzled the eyes of his soul;
he never tired of looking at her, even after all of these years. He drank her
in, greedily. He knew that one day, she would move on. She would see through the
trick, or she would simply just shrug off the cords he tried to silently weave
about her. He could not keep a bird that was not fated to sing for him. He
could only enjoy the song for a time and then he must let go.
But
he couldn't. She kept dropping hints about her unhappiness; he soothed her with
words like salve and with a touch that healed. But he couldn't reach down
inside of her, deep down where a part of her was torn. He wanted to change for
her, but change never lasted very long. He always sensed that she would come
alive whenever he exerted himself in this manner, but it was tiring and he
could not keep it up.
Some
days, he figured that if she were really a deserving woman, she would just
accept him.
What
ate away at her mind was the simple fact that he was one of the finest men she
would ever meet. He was selfless and loving, passably good-looking, genuinely
good-humored and very easy-going. They were such opposites, she with her
passion and fire and he with his gentle, mild breeze. There had been that
initial attraction and she wondered, still
wondered, years later, if she oughtn't to have let it go. She should have
killed them in the beginning and then they could have gone on to their separate
destinies. Now---now---as the clock wore down and the world dragged its weary
feet---they had wasted too much time. The thought of having to get to know
another person so wholly again fatigued her. She was tired of sharing. He had
already drained her; must she keep on giving?
But
that isn't true love, now is it? The lover should love and keep on loving,
always giving without asking for anything in return. She didn't ask for
anything---only everything.
He
would lay down his life for her if it would make her happy. He would hurt anyone who hurt her, love those
who liked her, and spend every moment of every day for the rest of his life
coming up with all the ways he could keep her happy.
But
he failed. Again and again. She wanted color and he only brought her the color
of his love. She wanted the color of the city, she wanted to be alluring; she
wanted to be a star. He was only a simple man, with a sharp enough brain to get
him by, but not a match for her. He got up on emotional points, but she was
eloquent and able and willing to drive her point home. He was not very voluble,
and spoke with a queer muffle in his voice while her tones were clear and
ringing.
Even
there, they did not match.
Couldn't
they at least sing harmony?
She
wanted more than the simple life he was quietly carving out for her and hated
herself intensely for wanting anything more. He was a wonderful man and would
take care of her, but when she looked into their future, she saw struggle and
strife. She saw their perpetual poorness. She was tired of that; she wanted something more. Was that so wrong, to yearn for the more?
But
she also listened to herself and to these thoughts and the hatred came back,
double its original strength, because she couldn't be content with a beautifully
simple life. That was not his fault.
She
supposed that if he were out of her life, that a part of her would be missing.
But a voice touched her ear, tinged with cynicism: Time heals. And so, what, should she not care for those in her life
because Time heals? She looked into
his future and could not see him marrying anyone else. Not out of pride, but
out of sheer knowledge. She loved him, but only would feel secure in her
thoughts to leave him if there were someone out there for him.
But
how was she to know that? The future is always in motion; she could not predict
it. All she knew was that she was not worthy of such a wonderful man. He needed
a better woman. Maybe that woman wouldn’t be as pretty, but she would be better. Right?
Right.
Who
is right in the end? What does it matter then, when all is over, who is right?
She
started to scratch harder. There was something buried under there and as the
fabric of her was unraveling, she had to know why. She prayed. She prayed.
The
answer became clear: she was not as warped as she had deluded herself to be;
she had even fooled him. No; they
were dying because he wasn't striving for anything better. He was content. He
was settling. He couldn't have what he wanted, so he settled down with what he did have. Some called him sensible, some
did not. Unfortunately for him, she was one of those who did not. Sure, he had
his wise moments in which her headlong determination to do everything only blinded her; he could pick through the forest
with ease. But she could see the forest, in all of its splendor. He was too
busy marking the path to look around.
Death
can be quick, but it can also be slow. They had been dying for years.
When she confronted him, he didn't
know what to say. He knew that she was serious this time; this was no longer
simply a hint of her unhappiness. She was telling him that she was depressed
and that she was fading away. He held her back, she said. He held them both back. There was no future awaiting
them.
He
didn't cry this time. Somehow, he believed her. He knew she was right. But he
loved her so damn much that he was not willing to let her go that easily. He
argued, he begged, he teased, he cajoled.
She
wasn't his girlfriend for nothing. She stood her ground firmly, but in the
gentlest tones he had ever heard her use, she asked for their separation.
Wherever
she goes, she brings warmth and color. Now, there is only cold and silence. Red flashes before his eyes with every
dissonant heartbeat; somewhere, something breaks. But her eyes are kind and she
is already free. Was already free. He
had never tamed her.
I could let you go, but will you come back?
She
couldn't answer. Wouldn't answer. She wouldn't even look at him. The gentle
tone changed; it was now tinted with scorn.
We'll see. I make no guarantees. Come back
to me when you've made something of yourself. Come back to me when you're
something I can be proud of. I don't want your money, I don't want your career.
You know how to change; you know how to be yourself. But you won't. You let me
do all the hard work and flatter yourself that it's you. When you're a child,
your mother cleans up after you, but do you ever notice? You take it for
granted. You took me for granted, my love. I cleaned up the mess in this
relationship and you always thought it was you. You'll know when it's right to come back.
Her
heart hurt as she opened her mouth to let the truth out. But if she didn't do
this now, there wouldn't be a future. She was certain that she would accept him
when he came back. He just needed some time away from her, that was all. He was
so besotted with her that he couldn't think clearly, let alone see the problem
that had torn them effectively in two.
But
she was fickle. She loved him deeply, with all that was within her, but as time
passed by, and left shadows under her eyes and creases around her once-constant
smile, she began to think that maybe she could just let go of love. Let it go,
let it recede into the darkness. She would be gone, never again to tamper with
him or his life. He would be free from her, as if she'd never tamed him.
A
busy life can stop in less than a blink of an eye. The storm was passing and
she felt so alone. Each second sounded out on the clock and each second added
another wrinkle to her young face. No, wait. It wasn't her face; it remained as
lovely as ever, though somewhat tired-looking. No, those wrinkles were in her
soul. Her busy life was no longer busy when she didn't have to fit him into her schedule. All was quiet,
and all was cold.
But
there is life after death, whether you believe it or not. The coldness can warm
and the silence fill with sound. She found that even after everything had
happened, right after it happened, she could still smile. She could still make
someone's day with her grin and soften up her clients with a demure look. But
those who knew her best saw past the mascara and eyeliner that could fool so
many; they saw that her eyes were full of unshed tears. She wanted to go to bed
early just to escape the day; she wanted to leave it all behind her. But going
to bed meant that she would have to wake up to another lonely day. But that was
okay; she was a strong woman, and she could deal with it.
I am strong. I will stand.
I have to.
The
slight girl was brushing past him; she had smoky eyes and tousled hair. She was
so incredibly sexy that he had to calm himself down with a few deep breaths. As
if that could really help.
He
asked for her number, shyly, and just as shyly, she gave it to him. That was
how it had begun; as simply as that.
She
was pleased that the good-looking young man had taken notice of her and she
knew she was blushing fiercely when she handed him her number. They had one
quiet date together and she knew, somehow, that it was going to be a long and
painful relationship.
She
tried to freeze him out, turn him off to her, but like most men, he thought it
beguiling and only came closer. She gave up for the present.
Her
failure haunted her. She could have spared him the pain.
Why
didn't he see it in the beginning? She was only being nice. He should have let
her go. She was out of his league, anyway.
She
had failed them both. She had set in
motion the chain of events that had set off their slow death. She was
answerable for it, and she knew it. It wasn't any consolation that he didn't. It only added to her pain,
and the self-recrimination---well, the time was past for that. Or was it?
Her
mind toyed with her, continually baiting her and answering everything she'd
affirmed for herself with a completely opposite, and usually negative,
question.
How
could there be love in a world like this? Couples walked along, hand-in-hand,
and it was something to smile at. But being a part of a couple---that was
another thing entirely. She wasn't so sure she wanted any part of it. But how
does one separate oneself from the rest of the body? He was a part of her. She
had to face that. She had to face that, and the possibility of amputation.
She
thought about it; she created the scene for herself and acted it out. She
rehearsed her lines and was ready to call for the scalpel. But every time she
opened her mouth to call for the tool, her heart was seized by something very
much like pain. The breath would stop in her throat, and the words died behind
her lips. She told herself, again and again, that she was going to be mature,
she was going to be an adult, she was going to…what?
Does
being mature, does being an adult---do those things mean giving up your
happiness? Is it immature to be
happy? Is it wrong? How dare she be
happy, in a world full of pain!
She
figured that since she had given up on her dream of freewheeling happiness and
settled for a broken happiness instead, she had just as much a right to it as
anyone else. It wasn’t like she was truly
happy. So he won out, she won a little bit, and no one else need put any guilt
trips on her.
Her
eyes were dark. He couldn’t read them. The sunlight slanted across her face,
into her eyes, but they were still as dark as before. They did not shine for
him anymore. Sure, he saw a shadow of love pass her face every now and then,
but it wasn’t enough.
Do your eyes shine for someone else?
Do they?
He was angry. He longed to take her in his arms---and shake
her. The impulse went as suddenly as it came; the lines around his eyes and
mouth softened and his love for her filled him. She was beautiful, and she was
a wonderful person…if she was indeed smiling for someone else…he supposed he
couldn’t fault her. She deserved…better…
He
was looking at her again. She could feel his anger, but chose to ignore it.
There was nothing she could do, nothing she could say---if she said anything at
all, she’d most likely ruin the fragile relationship they had. But if it was so
fragile, did she really want to be a part of it anymore? Some part of her
screamed for release, while another part begged her to hold on.
She
started to disconnect herself from him little by little. He deserved better
than her. She would go out of her way to make him kill the relationship; she refused to hurt him. She swallowed
her pride. He deserved better.
The
cold wind whipped through her hair, but she did not feel it because of the heat
of her tears. He was waiting for her, his hand held out. Tears stood in his
eyes, but he said nothing. And as she took his hand and took back her place by
setting her face on his shoulder and immediately sobbing into it, the puzzle
pieces were put back together...almost.
Is
there such a thing as a perfect relationship? Are all men and women truly
created equally? Or did the trouble for this young couple lay in different
shades of the same color scheme...?