all our searching, adna

[adna]

I will commit my soul to your door tonight, and I'll last 'til the gas fumes float on higher

She doesn’t know how to handle his laughter—the confusion, the lack of mirth.

She doesn’t know what to do when she is grappling for some edge of balance and control and there is none to be found. Because he doesn’t say that he wants to be with Sabbath. His face does not collapse around his love for her; he does not swell with it at the mention of her name. But neither does he come to her. He doesn’t draw her close and press a kiss to her forehead, a place where he has grown fond of.

So she stands there, lost in the ocean of her feelings.

Feeling pulled by the riptide of it.

“I just,” she starts and then stops, shaking her head. “I guess I,” again, but the words fail her and she looks around, bewildered and lost and more than a little hurt, her sage green eyes vulnerable and searching as they finally remain on his face. She hunts the angles of it, looks underneath every plane and loses herself in that solemn steadiness of his eyes, the depth of them so calming when they are not infuriating.

Her tongue touches her bottom lip and then she bites it and rolls a scaled shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

Because she can’t tell him why she was so fiercely afraid of what she had assumed—or why she had truly believed it. She can’t confess to him again the depth of her feelings when he has rebuffed them again and again, always meeting it with a sigh and an apology for not being able to return it. So she remains stuck in it, swallowing it down for the millionth time and finding that it is no less bitter than the first.

She shakes her head and feels everything flood from her.

This is no easier, she thinks, as she looks at him.

Perhaps nothing with him was ever meant to be easy.

in a dying love I'm nothing but a stone cold liar but, oh, I got an iron in that fire

Adna