And every time he asked her if she was happy, she'd say yes with that word, those lashes, that mouth. And he believed her. It came to be that she could look at him, the truth full in her eyes...and it didn't matter anymore. He didn't see it because it wasn't his truth; it was only her truth that she had never shared with him.
He was devastated when she left him. She had tried to adopt his truth, but how can you be happy with someone when his happiness is founded in your melancholia? It wasn't his fault; the way she had started it had corrupted it from the start.
A corruption so profound she didn't understand why every time his hand closed over hers, it felt like an oppressive vise squeezing over her heart.
In the end though, she couldn't accept that this was how it was supposed to be.
When they met, she was happy, but she couldn't tell him how happy she was. So he thought that she had no place for him -- her with the lowered lashes that would keep her feelings on guard, a hand over the mouth to hide that unbidden smile to spill words that until then had been so hard.
And every time he asked her if she was happy, she was too full to the brim to speak or maybe too scared to say yes with that word, those lashes, that mouth. And he believed her. It came to be that she could look at him, the truth full in her eyes...and it didn't matter anymore. He didn't see it because it wasn't his truth; it was only her truth that she had never shared with him.
She was devastated when he left her. He had tried to adopt her truth, but how can you be happy with someone when she keeps her happiness close to her out of fear? It wasn't his fault; the pattern she had started had corrupted it from the start.
A corruption so profound that whenever his hand closed over hers, he felt despair cloud his heart because he was never sure enough of whether her happiness answered his.
In the end, he couldn't accept that this was how it was supposed to be.
//picture found on izmeister's tumblr, as always.