Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Enigma.

He watches her soft curves move ever so slightly as she breathes. Her skin warm against his (first thought when she first fell asleep with him), so soft (first thought when he fell in love with her), so smooth (first thought when he kissed every inch of her body).
"I ask for what I have the right to. Why must you make that so difficult?"
He observes her, the enigma she is. (Journal entry: She comes across as a mystery to me. I want to know her, I want to explore her. I want to know her story. I want to figure her inside out. Her life, her culture, her past.) Watches her skin crinkle in joy when she laughs, her barely-crooked teeth smile; watches her brow furrow when she's deep in thought that she wants to share with no one; watches her when her eyes twinkle with delight at the thought of rebelling.
"I came all the way here, half cause of you. Why did I, if this is how it is?"
He sits by and lets her run around in circles in the garden, ever so happy with the warm sun on her face and the wet grass under her feet. He laughs at her clueless attitude towards his work, as she brushes off the (boring) topic by firmly kissing him and declaring that she doesn't want to waste time on stupid things.
"Last I checked, this was a two-sided relationship. Why am I the only one who makes an effort anymore?"
All this beauty, this mystery, this careless little girl of his who he wants to hide from the world and its horrors forever. He watches her crumble under the burden he keeps adding on her day by day. He notices her crying alone and not tell him because she doesn't have the heart to. He hears the pain in her silence every time he tells her he'll be home late. He hears the ache in her voice every time she tells him she wishes they spent more time together, but that she understands.
That she's understood for two years.
And for another few months.
And will continue to do so.
"You have an obligation to your work. You have an obligation to your brothers. But you also have an obligation to me."
And so he lets her slip from his fingers. Lets her destroy herself inside out because frankly, in his mind, it's not in his hands. It never has been. It has always been her life, and he has let her live it the way she wanted to. He wondered every now and then, if she needed him to stop her. Yet he never did. He cared, but it was her life (right?). He watched her drink from one day a week, to four days a week. He watched her pop pills one after the other. He watched her experiment with drugs all the time. And not once did he stop her. She always wanted to know that he cared. But she had accepted that the love she had missed out in her childhood was making its entrance back into her life this time around. And so this enigma he had fallen in love with continued to dwell in her pain with her own self-destructive methods. And he just stood there and watched it happen.
"It died a long time ago."



"Love, devotion, feeling, emotion.
Don't be afraid to be weak,
Don't be too proud to be strong.
Just look into your heart my friend
It will be the return to yourself,
The return to innocence."

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