Prose: What are you thinking?

May 25 2006

Two slouched figures sitting on the stair. They sit eyes averted, glancing anywhere but at each other. Both are at opposite corners, both uncertain and scared. The space between them speaks volumes but the silence screams in despair.

There was a time when he couldn’t get his hands off her, a time when she cuddled up to him at every possible chance. But things had changed as they always do. They both wanted it to be the same but didn’t know how to mend the hole that was growing.
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She thought to her self, no I mustn’t cry. STOP being such a baby. You knew this day was coming. You knew but you still fell in love. He doesn’t love me any more. He’s bored. I knew I wasn’t good enough. Why is it so hard to accept its over? …If only I could make him love me.

Why isn’t he saying anything? The silence is driving me CRAZY! Why is he torturing me like this? I HATE him. I hate him so much!

He was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. His heart constricts as he notices the single tear slip gently down her chin and silently plunge to the ground. He stops himself from jumping up and pulling her into his arms.

He misses the way she links her arm in his, he misses seeing her smile to something he says but most of all he misses the way she would always try to hide her delicate insecurities from him.

But it hasn’t been that way for a while now. His confidence has faded. His insecurities have matured. He doesn’t know what’s wrong or what’s right. He wants to say something, tell her he still loves her but these thoughts are just stuck in his head.

Tell her you love her, you moron. Do something! Should I pull her close? What if she pushes me away?

“Kyle… what are you thinking?” she says.

“Nothing”, he replies. “What were you thinking?”

“About us”, she hurriedly answers.

“What about us?” he asks.

She searches for some sign of affection on his face but she couldn’t see any. “Maybe we should stop seeing each other…it’s obviously not working”, she whispered, digging her nails into her hand to stop herself from crying.

But I need you in my life. “Are you sure?” he asks.

No! Please say you’re not ready to let me go. “I think so…” she answers.

I wish I could kiss you and make you see you are so wrong. “Take care of yourself. I …Bye claire”

“Bye. Thanks for …everything.”

He stands up, she follows suite.

As they walk away in opposite directions, they both try hard not to turn around and look for the final time at what they’re letting go.

And as they slowly but brutally walk away from the 2 years of shared memories, the pain breaks them in different ways.

Both of them however share the same regret. They finally see the sick irony.

They didn’t show their real feelings in the fear of getting hurt only to end up there anyway.