Sometimes, especially when it was damp and gray outside, she'd walk to the kitchen just before bed and gently leave the cabinet doors open. As if, in her haste, she had forgotten to worry about the small things. And she made sure that it was just enough for him to notice. Then she would climb into bed and wish herself to sleep, hoping that her dreams would spin her out to the calm memories of yesterday's eastern shores. But the sands never came soon enough. And the only times when slumber graced her sheets were when she tried waiting up for him. So completely futile and utterly hopeless it seemed. He would whisper in and out of the covers and just barely tip-toe through her pillows like a ghost. And the only evidence of his midnight existence were those damned wooden compartments, closed shut with rushed purpose and obsessive compulsion. Each new morning became a broken promise for her. And it never got old. It never lost its sting to her.
At times he would take her for nights out on the town. Urban mediocrity and all-for-shows, she thought. Chilled pinots paired to perfection with culinary masterworks of art. They sat across from each other at that quaint little Italian restaurant they used to call their own. Not speaking one real word of meaning to the other. They chit-chatted away the night with small talk and smothered formalities but they both knew that neither would recall the night's conversations at a latter time. They only pretended to invest, when really, they were both only listening to the exchanges at distant tables. Caring vicariously for one another through the newfound love seated in the booth nearby. It wasn't that they forgot how to love, they just assumed that the other did.
And so the ill assumptions piled in. They packed the house and lined up through the door and around the corner, then down the street. Breaking open the walls of past jealousies and forgiven histories until the cry for a coup against rationale and commitment had made itself known. What is to become of us he'd say to himself while pouring himself bottemless cups of coffee in the breakroom. Where did we go wrong she'd think to herself while fighting to wake in the morning. You see, the problem wasn't so much that were tired of each other. Actually they barely knew each other now, if at all. They had spent all their early years wearing their hearts on their sleeves and now they unconsciously made that fundamental error of attribution, thinking they knew precisely what the other was implying. And so they could spend nights together in bed or dinners out in the city without a single expression of emotion. Still both carrying on dialogues of speculation under their breaths. There was no more consideration. But more importantly, no more discovery.
Too proud and stubborn by now, they threw vulnerability out the window a long time ago. And with it they vacated all possibility of honesty. The frustrations sown well beneath their tired exteriors had found a way to blossom. And it was too late now. The wretchedness of passive aggression and never-letting-go's finally got the best of them. Their friends would tell them that their love was dead and buried. Walking through the alleyways and returning to lovey-dovey landmarks by her lonesome, she found that they had all but lost their luster. And stories of red lights and green lights speckled the tarnished writings while expensive sparkles were his ridiculed muse.
They convinced themselves to believe that they tried too hard without enough love. When in reality, the two should have realized that they loved too much and tried too little. He searched for avenues of distraction with her and she mimicked the reminiscent mementos to keep from going under. If only they had taken it slow and learned to move beyond the closed doors of misplaced miseries. If only they understood their compatibility and never let go of their conversational tendencies. If only they accepted the challenge of love and fate and with trust, became each other's true dependencies. If only if only if only. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.. .
