09 March 2008

the memory of hands, part ii

everything else aside, she thought, this is about you and me. we are the only two who matter. regardless of what relationships may or may not exist, or are supposed to exist, what do we want from each other? forget that it's not really that simple...

she shuffled into her bedroom and reached for the journal she kept next to her bed, searching for a pen that still had ink in it. her journal fell open to a page that said only, "i fall asleep next to him and i feel safe, like i've found that place i'm supposed to call Home." it was dated two weeks earlier. she took a deep breath and flipped to the next empty page, uncapped her pen, wrote the date and time in meticulous print, and stared at the blank page before her.

the words would not come.

her thoughts spun so fast that they wouldn't allow words to catch up, and she was left with no explanation.

she slammed the book shut and threw it to the floor, ready to give up and descending again into the memory of her hands...her hands, so soft in her own and so tempted but so hesitant; that was what she wanted, an end to that hesitation...wasn't it?

any new situation that might arise would be so artificial that it would be impossible to tell what was really happening.

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