Can’t think of a title.

She paused.
Looked him up and down.
His matted, dirty hair, his soiled shirt.
Eyes moving downwards, she noticed his hands, hanging limply by his sides.
They were shaking.
Those same hands that had held her so tight, when she cried, laughed, shuddered and fumed.
She laughed bitterly on the inside.
She stared right into his frank, brown eyes and watched him sink down onto his chair like an old, weary man.
This wasn’t, couldn’t be him.
She sat down, digging not so deep into the crevices of her memory.
Back to last night.
They had fought again. One of the routine ones- he said, she said.
He screamed, she wept.
He stood tall, she hit his chest.
He shook his head, she meaninglessly rambled.
He left.
He was drunk, she thought.
What a fall from grace.
An inner voice said, “Leave him be. He’s evidently not worth it. He didn’t even apologise!”
But it wasn’t his fault, she argued! “I haven’t even tried to make this work. And….maybe I should try!”
Another mocking, sardonic laugh.
“That’s what you always say. Doe-eyes and full of hope, are we? It’ll just go back to the same grind. Trust me, it’ll just…..”
She shut the voice out, and knelt in front of his chair.
She watched him sleep peacefully, breathing ever so slightly. She resolved to be a better person, and really, REALLY try to make this work.
Screw the voice in her head.
She shook him gently.
Eyes screaming.
Mouth silent.
A whisper.


~ by cranialrumblings on February 1, 2009.

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