08-27-2015, 08:37 PM
you taught me the courage of stars before you left
Mind reader.
The relief she feels is instantaneous, as is the shame that creeps over her skin like a fever. But the suspicion fades away from the shadows in her face, the skepticism too, and her green eyes seem softer now when they settle back to the gold of his face. She considers for a moment whether to tell him the truth, the why, but realizes with a tight smile that he must already know. The reason would have become his as soon as the thought took shape in her mind. But she decides to tell him anyway, because it feels less like a stolen secret when she can convince herself it’s been willingly shared.
“I thought you might be playing a cruel joke on me.” She confides quietly, her voice drawn and vulnerable in the wake of the confession. “I thought someone else might have given you my name.” She doesn’t say who, but his name must read as bright and aching as moon in the sky above them. She understands that this information is his too, whether she offers it willingly or not, but his name feels like poison in her mouth and it hurts so much less when she doesn’t have to say it aloud. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” her voice shakes a little and she makes a weak effort to try and conceal it from him, “I don’t even think I can trust myself anymore.”
She looks away from him quickly, flustered, and considers disappearing into the shadow of the night. He didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving, but she also didn’t think he would try and follow her if she left. But a thought throbbed like a flesh wound in her chest and she found herself frozen in place. You have nowhere to go.
When he speaks again it is with much reluctance that her chin lifts and her dark eyes return uncertainly to his calm, imploring face. “Can you?” She asks before she has a chance to soften the accusation echoing in her question. “Can you ignore it?” What had first been edged with accidental steel was a question now tangled in simple desperation. “I don’t want you to know what I do, I don’t want all of my shame and weakness displayed for you like a story. But I cannot make it stop running through my mind.”
She looks away again, her jaw clenched tight, and when she turns her head back to face him, her expression is a tangled reflection of the turmoil within.
The relief she feels is instantaneous, as is the shame that creeps over her skin like a fever. But the suspicion fades away from the shadows in her face, the skepticism too, and her green eyes seem softer now when they settle back to the gold of his face. She considers for a moment whether to tell him the truth, the why, but realizes with a tight smile that he must already know. The reason would have become his as soon as the thought took shape in her mind. But she decides to tell him anyway, because it feels less like a stolen secret when she can convince herself it’s been willingly shared.
“I thought you might be playing a cruel joke on me.” She confides quietly, her voice drawn and vulnerable in the wake of the confession. “I thought someone else might have given you my name.” She doesn’t say who, but his name must read as bright and aching as moon in the sky above them. She understands that this information is his too, whether she offers it willingly or not, but his name feels like poison in her mouth and it hurts so much less when she doesn’t have to say it aloud. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” her voice shakes a little and she makes a weak effort to try and conceal it from him, “I don’t even think I can trust myself anymore.”
She looks away from him quickly, flustered, and considers disappearing into the shadow of the night. He didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving, but she also didn’t think he would try and follow her if she left. But a thought throbbed like a flesh wound in her chest and she found herself frozen in place. You have nowhere to go.
When he speaks again it is with much reluctance that her chin lifts and her dark eyes return uncertainly to his calm, imploring face. “Can you?” She asks before she has a chance to soften the accusation echoing in her question. “Can you ignore it?” What had first been edged with accidental steel was a question now tangled in simple desperation. “I don’t want you to know what I do, I don’t want all of my shame and weakness displayed for you like a story. But I cannot make it stop running through my mind.”
She looks away again, her jaw clenched tight, and when she turns her head back to face him, her expression is a tangled reflection of the turmoil within.
how light carries on endlessly, even after death
Oksana