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Life is only what you wonder.

Tuesday, July 01, 2003

Five Minute Story

A Moment of Weakness

I am not going to touch him.
No matter how much I want to, I will not.
The passion died and there was no one mourning it but me. I'm tired of trying, carrying the weight of us both on my back.
All warmth initiated by me. I'm the one to start the fire, keep it going. Keep it burning.
No kind words for me lately. No smiles. Conversation died. Empty silence.
I want so much to hate him for that, but I can't.
I let it happen.
He's lying there on the other side of our big bed.
His broad beautiful back toward me, his hips covered by the blue and white checkered sheet.
I know he is warm, and I want so much to slide over next to him and put my arm around him, feel his skin against mine.
My love was red and liquid and burning, glowing, in the beginning of our romance. Somehow it changed into something solid, and grey, and heavy.
Coldness is an infection that works it's way from the inside out.
It cuts you inside, but you aren't aware. Coldness hurts me more than anything, more than a physical blow, more than hunger.
It would be so easy to reach out, turn the cold marble into hot liquid flesh. Touch turning to friction, to fire.
I shut my eyes and feel the fat warm tear trickle down my face in the darkness.
I reach out . . .and touch him.
He mumbles in his half-sleep and pulls me toward him.
I curse myself for my weakness.