Hello everyone! I promise, I am still going to finish my other story (Bleed Like Me) but this just sort of wrote itself last night and I felt the need to post something... happier. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
She thinks they don't love each other the way most people love. Theirs is more the love story that isn't; they seem to love best in the negative spaces, in the places that don't count, in between the times of real importance. She thinks they live for the moments that never seem to come, but sometimes almost feel real enough to be there, like a mirage in the desert.
They love in the shadows, when no one is watching. In the brush of two fingers against a palm, in a glance held one second too long, in words laced with a double meaning only the other can decipher. Not because they want this love to be secret, but because it is too fragile to be exposed to the bald, burning light of day.
They love in whispers. Sounds, too quiet for anyone else to notice, traveled along the current of a single breath. Her lips forming the words, his vocal chords filling out the sound and returning it to her, formed and whole and perfectly arranged to answer her.
They love behind closed doors and in darkened corners, not because this love is secret, but because this love is precious. They love in a way most people wouldn't understand. They see in a myriad of colors what the whole world sees in black and white. They love in thunderstorms and fires and earthquakes, because who ever said romance only resides in fields of wildflowers, in sunsets, in a star-filled sky?
They love in opposites, because while he is a dark, deep, mysterious blue, she is a bright, burning gold. They love like spring and winter, like sun and rain, like Shakespeare and John Lennon. She loves in poetry and he loves in prose, but it doesn't matter, because it all fits together if they're willing to make it. They are two shards of a glass circle; sharp on the edges, but when they fit together, smooth, round, whole and endless.
They love in permanent marker even when the whole world is in faded watercolors. They love without looking back, not because they don't have regrets (they do) but because it's the only way they're ever going to get anywhere.
They love in truth even when all they see are lies. Not that they don't lie to each other (they do). They are a chain that gets tangled in the secrets they keep from each other. But at the end of the day, they always untangle the chain, weed out the lies from the truth, and go home knowing they are straight again.
They love in goodbyes. They love in timing that is never right, in marriages and divorce and children that somehow never manage to belong to both of them. They love in regrets, bittersweet and deep as the ocean that once stood between them.
They love because they will never, ever have enough time. They love because they are each other's life, because without each other they are nothing. They love because it is necessary.
She thinks they don't love each other the way most people love. She thinks they will never love each other the way most people love. She thinks it's a secret they keep to themselves, the one lie they are not willing to point out. She thinks if everyone knew how to love the way they do, loving like this would lose something. It wouldn't hold so much power over her, and maybe she wouldn't need it anymore.
(They love in a thousand tiny ways, like raindrops beaded on a sea of grass.)
But she really, really needs to need it. So they love in the secrets they keep from the world.
They love inexplicably. To pinpoint or define it is impossible. So, to put it simply: they love.
And no other words are needed.