Where he ends and she begins

 

Why?

She stares back at him, silent.

Why Anya?

He reaches for her as she reaches for him, and they both fall together, long limbs entangling as they fall apart. He clutches her to him tightly, holding on as if she is his lifeline and the only thing keeping him alive. He needs her, like a tree needs its roots – to keep him strong, grounded and upright. Some days he feels like if he didn’t have her he’d just float away – literally or metaphorically; he’s not even sure anymore.

She is so familiar to him – they have known each other since they were tiny; for as long as they’ve been alive, for as long as they can remember, and it is difficult sometimes to discern – where he ends and she begins. And it is not just because they both look so alike either, with the same lithe bodies, dark hair and grey eyes.

She is his better half, and for him, without her it would be like endless spring days without even a single zephyr. She is the only one who can keep him breathing, keep him existing, and keep him whole. She watches the world, seeing everything, seeing through people and all their lies. She is able to see things that many others cannot, and it unsettles them, because they cannot handle the truth of what she has seen.

She sees everything, but all he sees is her.

And that is simply why he cannot let her go. Without her, he would be like blind man; suffocating in a storm.

He grips her shoulders, grasping her with a force that will leave her to find deep purple bruises littering her body the very next day. He cannot bear to let her go, and yet he must and his mind recognizes this fact even as his body rebels.

She lifts her head calmly from where it had been buried in his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

I’m sorry.

He looks down at her, his face emotionless like the calm before a storm, the turmoil inside him not showing even a little bit. He quietly moves himself a few inches away from her, though his arms still hold on to her.

They have reached a standstill, with neither willing to let go before the other, but both striving to find the right moment to do it. So is it with little surprise when both end up doing so at the same time, as if their very heartbeats pulsed to the same time, as if they had both counted down, and let go.

He turned around instantly, finding it agonizing to look at her any longer, when he knows that he cannot hold her ever again. It was their last embrace, that which had just occurred, their last words; Why Anya? His last question and I’m sorry, her last reply.

Yet there is so much still that he wishes to say to her, so many things that he wants to blurt out, and even without looking at her, he knows that she is waiting, patiently for him to say his final piece before she leaves, for it will be the very last time.

He knows the words; exactly what he wants to say, and yet he simple cannot get it out. Because he knows that to speak the words, his last words to her, is to acknowledge that this is the very last, final time that he will see her – never again will they be together – and there is a part of him still, that refuses to accept it.

Iloveyou. The words come soaring suddenly from inside of him, and out of his mouth, though he still cannot speak louder than a whisper.

PleaseAnyaIloveyouDon’tleavemeIcan’tlivewithoutyouIneedyouAnyaDon’tyouunderstandIloveyouandwithoutyoumylifewouldbe  meaningless,utterlyandcompletelyuselessIloveyouAnyaIneedyouinmylifeYouaremyeverythingandwithoutyouIcouldnotsurviveDon’tleave Pleasedon’tgoAnyaIloveyouPleaseAnyaI’msorryIloveyousomuchIneedyouIcan’tlivewithoutyouAnyaIloveyouso.

His throat is sore, and the words he could not speak a moment before, the list of never ending clichés he never thought he would ever use, tumble out in a hoarse murmur. As it spins out of control, he falls to the ground, kneeling with his head in his hands, trembling with the sudden force of his emotions that have burst to the forefront, the edges fraying with nothing left for him to hold on to.

She knows that she should not touch him now, for that is already over.

All that is left is for her to leave, and yet she cannot stand to leave him so broken, even as her own heart splinters inside, she walks to stand in front of him, placing each hand on either side of his face as she leans down to, oh so carefully brush her lips in the most gentlest of kisses, lightly against his forehead. It is the slightest ghost of a kiss and he does not look at her as she lets go and straightens up, gliding away from him silently to the door his back is facing, as he stays kneeling, frozen in position.

Before she leaves, before the door quietly clicks into place behind her, before only the memory of her presence is left in the room, he hears the words she whispers back, just as she leaves.

I love you too.

 

 

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10 thoughts on “Where he ends and she begins

  1. Pingback: Bittersweet Perfection – A Rainy Romantic Monday Post | Edward Hotspur

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