Monday, November 7, 2011

Walking tightropes

"Yes." My eyes searching his, trying to read him.
"No." He's starting to get angry, his eyes are just a little bit red. And me, I find myself pleading. Pleading. Why does it always feel like I'm doing that?
"Yes. Yes." I'm insistent, I'm begging now, I know it. And I'm asking, posing all these non-verbal questions to myself, to him.
"NO!" He yells at me, his eyes angry, his brow furrowed. He shakes his head at me, lowers his voice. It is firm.
"No." Firm and demanding.
I watch him. And I want to ask why. My breath, it's catching, and I'm all choked up and I'm so close to tears. "Why?" I want to say, "Why not?" But I don't. I lose myself to the space between us, to the anger that I don't understand that's seeping from his pores, to the desperation I find etched in my voice.
"Yes," I say, "Yes." Hating, detesting that desperate, desperate need I find clawing at my insides, reaching out to him.
"No," He says, his voice a harsh whisper. Except, I'm hearing him say "Please" now.
"No." And he's breaking then, he's breaking in front of me. He's breaking and then he breaks.
"Yes" I say, pulling him to me, all but physically, "Yes." I can be insistent too. I can work this for me, I can.
"No," he says again. He's so worn out now, tears filling his eyes and running in streams.
"No." It's barely above a whisper. I want to back away, I want to let him be. I want to tell him that I can't make him, I can't.
Except a voice, inches from my ear tells me I can't do that. Tells me to do otherwise. So.

"Yes," I say, "Yes."
But he's so broken and still holding on, holding on to something I can't see, fighting for something I know nothing about.
"No." And I take it in. I need to after all, take it in. Because I can't make him, I can't.
I can want to, so very much.
But I can't make him want too.



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