“Why are you distant, it’s a good day after all?” he was genuinely concerned now.
“I don’t know. He chose. He chose these superficial handcuffs instead of my hand … cuffs that bind the mind when the brain bugs overwhelm him. He chose them over me … again. One of these days it’s going to arrest his heart…and it’ll be too late,” she kept her insides from caving inward as she sighed a universal truth that enveloped them both.
“Ahh, to grieve someone who hasn’t yet passed; the hardest of which is love torn under by some unseen force…man-made and meant to destroy.”
“It’s hard not to get angry, ya know? I just want to shake him but I know better,” frustrated, she flicked her cigarette across the lawn.
He nodded, staring out ahead, “All you can do is wait now, Love. It’s okay to get mad over him.”
“It isn’t him … I am not mad in my head over him, it’s this chaos, this insatiable thirst, this uncontrollable urge for all things not meant for any of us; for all things meant to poison every fiber of our being and pour through every pore…a space where words are rendered fucking useless and holding one’s breath becomes this, like, sick medieval art. I swear sometimes I see pleasure in his eyes as torture reigns on me.”
“Yes, but remember, that’s just a cry for someone to feel…someone to beat for him…someone to feel for him in ways he cannot.”
“I thought I had the stamina. But I don’t have years to give. I can’t wait at these walls, watching the stone chip away slowly in his mind. He doesn’t have years.”
“You bring a bulldozer or a jackhammer and either way, you’ll get a man who runs from facing the truth within your eyes,” he paused. “My dear, it is his wall. He built it, and he will know how to dismantle it. Don’t you remember how yours came tumbling down?”