I can get there on my own. you can leave me here alone.
He thinks he would love her if he could.
He had felt it, his heart resuming its post where, for years, the chest had been empty.
She had coaxed out of him things he had not felt in years – if ever.
For her, he has softened. It has been in degrees and perhaps not enough, but the difference has surprised him even if it is microscopic to most everyone else. He has spent his entire life behind steel, plate glass, razor wire. And then, quite simply, a brick wall.
He knows that he is not capable of the kind of love she deserves. He is not capable of wrapping himself around her and kissing her head freely, smiling and laughing. He is not capable terrible and merciful softness. He can whittle away at it, but he will always be made of stone.
Were he softer, he would have acted on the stirring in his chest. He would have looked at her and told her that she would never lose anything, she would never have anything to fear. He would have tried to reassure her, to offer her some semblance of comfort. Instead, he takes her words and he files them away. He tries to understand them.
He has never had anything worth being afraid of losing. Until now. And, though he has not and likely will not ever say it, she is it. She and their daughter. Even if his reactions are not big enough, his emotions not demanding enough. Even if he does not take up enough space. He does not want to lose them.
“What are you trying to outrun?” he asks. Perhaps it is unfair, the way he capitalizes on the opportunity. But she has always been unflinchingly honest, hasn’t she? She has never shied away from telling him the truth and he has no reason to believe that this is any different. He has no reason to believe he’s taking advantage of anything at all.
BETHLEHEM
I'm just tryin' to do what's right. oh, a man ain't a man unless he's fought the fight.
