November 3, 2011 when things fall apart
The day when things fell to pieces, she wasn’t alone.
It was rendering for a while, like a patient self-destruct sequence. And when it was time, it did with a quiet explosion that did nothing on the outside, but everything on the in. Nothing would ever be the same. Trusted people could not be trusted, unshakeable rocks were shaken, once safe walls crushed her bones.
She sat back in her chair and wearily draped her arms across her face, as if trying to X out the circumstances. Silence. Finally a heavy, muffled sigh and, her mouth retarded against her skin, bleated out:
“Why do things fall apart?”
He stood there awkwardly and after thinking carefully, he began cautiously. “Sometimes they need to–” She moved her shoulders as if irritated at the sound of his voice. Maybe it was a rhetorical question? A moment’s hesitation and he tried again. “They need to… so they can be put back together in the right way.”
“That’s dumb,” she snapped, even though he was wise, “I don’t care,” even though she did.
She kept her arms over her eyes until he felt so uncomfortable that he drew away. And she caught the edge of his sleeve and asked him to stay; something like a sad hope glistening in her eye.
Like this:
- Leave a comment
- Posted under Personal
