moments define
please pardon the angsty drabble from a non-writer, it was the only way to process it out.
The fight calmed, for the briefest of moments. Corners retreated to, wounds being licked, all the standard cliches. She walks in from the porch to you, head down and somber, and waits beside your chair, tension ballooning to stifle the air in the room until you look up and meet her eyes, brows raised in question.
"....Yes? What?" Your tone is sharp, you've had enough of this game. Her eyes fill up in front of you and you find it hard to swallow your irritation.
"I love you." She croaks, voice breaking at the appropriate crest to evoke the most empathy. You wonder when you stopped feeling what she felt, as she displayed it. When it stopped mattering if all this was hurting her, too.
"I know you do. I love you, too." Your voice is resigned, weary, low tones spoken with all the exhaustion of one who has given up saying the right lines with the right inflection, each showing, on most nights of the week. "Seven-thirty show is different from the nine-thirty, kids..." you hear in your head.
She snuffles and chokes a sob, pleading at you with the same blue eyes you fell in love with so long ago, eyes that just don't move you most of the time, anymore.
"They're not just words." She chokes out, releasing the fat tears she had managed to keep behind the levy of those impossibly long dark lashes until this moment, while looking into your own.
"I know they aren't." You bite out. "I know I shouldn't have brought it up and nothing will change, and I'm sorry I got you into it." You shift in the chair to move her away from you, she's too close from her position where she had dropped to her knees when you started speaking.
"It's just working up both up into this flurry of emotional shit that will result in Nothing." You continue, stressing the word, looking at her fiercely while she cries. "Do you get it? Nothing. Its my problem to deal with, and I don't want to do this with you. We have been talking about it, it doesn't help. Nothing will change it will all be normal again, so I don't see what you're worried about. Just leave it alone." She cries harder, shuffling closer to your chair on her knees, her giant eyes shining at you like you can fix what's broken in both of you.
You sigh, eyes fixed on the television, jaw flexing.
"Weren't you going to the store? I don't know what you want from me." You look at her with all the honesty you can muster, hoping she will accept it as such and not the cruelty she seems to want to believe it to be.
Those blue eyes fill again and she drops her head.
"Nothing. I don't want anything from you. I'm sorry." She grabs the keys to the car and walks out. You can hear the first sob of her letting go, once she got out of your eye-line, echoing off the stucco apartment breezeway, and you wonder when you stopped chasing her when she cries. When you stopped wanting to.
The fight calmed, for the briefest of moments. Corners retreated to, wounds being licked, all the standard cliches. She walks in from the porch to you, head down and somber, and waits beside your chair, tension ballooning to stifle the air in the room until you look up and meet her eyes, brows raised in question.
"....Yes? What?" Your tone is sharp, you've had enough of this game. Her eyes fill up in front of you and you find it hard to swallow your irritation.
"I love you." She croaks, voice breaking at the appropriate crest to evoke the most empathy. You wonder when you stopped feeling what she felt, as she displayed it. When it stopped mattering if all this was hurting her, too.
"I know you do. I love you, too." Your voice is resigned, weary, low tones spoken with all the exhaustion of one who has given up saying the right lines with the right inflection, each showing, on most nights of the week. "Seven-thirty show is different from the nine-thirty, kids..." you hear in your head.
She snuffles and chokes a sob, pleading at you with the same blue eyes you fell in love with so long ago, eyes that just don't move you most of the time, anymore.
"They're not just words." She chokes out, releasing the fat tears she had managed to keep behind the levy of those impossibly long dark lashes until this moment, while looking into your own.
"I know they aren't." You bite out. "I know I shouldn't have brought it up and nothing will change, and I'm sorry I got you into it." You shift in the chair to move her away from you, she's too close from her position where she had dropped to her knees when you started speaking.
"It's just working up both up into this flurry of emotional shit that will result in Nothing." You continue, stressing the word, looking at her fiercely while she cries. "Do you get it? Nothing. Its my problem to deal with, and I don't want to do this with you. We have been talking about it, it doesn't help. Nothing will change it will all be normal again, so I don't see what you're worried about. Just leave it alone." She cries harder, shuffling closer to your chair on her knees, her giant eyes shining at you like you can fix what's broken in both of you.
You sigh, eyes fixed on the television, jaw flexing.
"Weren't you going to the store? I don't know what you want from me." You look at her with all the honesty you can muster, hoping she will accept it as such and not the cruelty she seems to want to believe it to be.
Those blue eyes fill again and she drops her head.
"Nothing. I don't want anything from you. I'm sorry." She grabs the keys to the car and walks out. You can hear the first sob of her letting go, once she got out of your eye-line, echoing off the stucco apartment breezeway, and you wonder when you stopped chasing her when she cries. When you stopped wanting to.