Slipping with Pearls Underneath

We couldn’t always have what we want.

“I love you,” sliced into three, then into nine. Ink smudges at the bitter corners of her lips. They contrasted heavily against pale snowflakes that were her fashion. Arms moved in rapid motions: push! Pull! Gaiety was put on a sudden halt, forced by causes not entirely her own.

Sorrow longed for touch because there is a lingering comfort that came with it. For every pearl that rained down from the sky, the need intensified. Slowly. Treading slowly on holy ground. Heavy, for each time she gave existence to ever jewel, the crystal glass that she held dear broke in another thousand pieces. Her knees buckled under her weight, unable to stand on her own.

It was not their fault. Not their fault.

Panting, the treasures she buried underneath erupted, a volcano’s lava unstopped even by the thick layers of the earth. There was no protection and she stood diffident, facing an unwelcome tragedy. There was a sharp intake of breath before she reached out to touch, to find the sensation of feeling: the capacity to hold, to pull closer. Her fingers curled at the moment she found it; warmth sufficed her physical need. She clung to that gratification, ignoring the rewards of sacrifice, and indulged in that which gave her comfort.

It was what I wanted.

There were two of them. She was no longer drowning but floating with another. She wasn’t sinking. An outward expression of need, unable to establish herself as an independent individual, endeared her to the other.

She was human, and so was he.

His head was bent while hers bowed in humility on his chest, arms around him. It was a hug unreturned. Their form of communication was a silent exchange of air, intakes of breath, and a share in darkness. Language could not express her sorrow, her weeping, but he felt that a single caress, a pat, a hug, would calm the whispered agony. He lifted his arm and touched. Palms faced down, it reached her back. Forward. Backward. Again. Forward. Backward. Soon, her breath was even: a silent rise, a silent fall.

Then he joined her. Not lovers, not friends; two humans complete and incomplete; alive and dead. Breathing when the heart ceased to beat, dying when blood overflowed. His arms around hers, her arms around his. Humans. Nothing more, nothing less. Naked, reborn, and for the first time discovered to live.

It was daybreak and they kept on sleeping.

end.