Stay: Finish

She sat across from him, trying to not stare too intently into his eyes, trying not to pick through the shockingly blue strands of his iris to the space just behind his pupil, to his brain with it's soul-filled fissures. If she hadn't glanced away, she would have kept walking there--in the waves of his eyes--until it would have been embarrassing for both of them. 

Question after question, so carefully prepared to pinpoint what she thought she'd accidentally seen. It both scared her and brought her relief, the thought that here was someone who felt the same way she felt. Here was someone who hid the same way she did. She'd seen it in her walkings and felt it in the notes of his voice. 

She respected him, and that is why she asked and listened. She respected his thoughts and his choices, his opinions and tastes. She saw and honored that light like divinity within him. Knowing he had it when perhaps even he didn't, was the reason for all her questions. She wanted him to feel his own effulgence--how he was so signal that someone actually cared. She just wanted him to monologue about his life--from the dead past to the present, but every question answered she knew she wasn't getting past his cornea.

So she worked at gaining his trust, asking him ridiculous questions to try and break his shell. She wanted him to c-o-m-m-u-n-i-c-a-t-e, just like that, spelling everything out. She didn't care if he were forward with his thoughts, she would listen. She would listen like they had taught her in elementary school, giving him her "undivided attention." Undivided. When he spoke, the world could cave in on itself and she would still be listening. Her eyes would sparkle with the wonder of his words, the way they did when she felt pure intelligence and peace running into her, because his words were interesting. 

"Don't you see?!!? I care about you. I know. I KNOW!!!! I know how you feel and I want you to trust me enough recognize that I care about that feeling in you. Trust me." 

His long lashes shaded and hid his eyes, like a veil over his soul. 

"Don't blink. Please. Don't shut that curtain on me."

He didn't want to reveal everything to her. He didn't want to be called out. He didn't want to be forward. For her, this was the most forward she'd ever been in her shy life. She risked it. When she lied down, she opened her palms up and outward by her side instead of covering her heart. She didn't cover her heart anymore--she couldn't cover it if she wanted to be receptive. No, she left her hands open, waiting for him to put his hand in hers. She didn't cover her heart, waiting to allow it to feel with him. 

But he only showed her his eyelids. He blinked. He wouldn't finish. 

She didn't want someone to hurt with her, but rather for her to heal their hurt. She wouldn't erase any memories--no, that's not healing--instead, they'd go together and take the memory somewhere else to keep it safe. They'd hide it, but not from each other.  

If only he would finish. 

She respected him. She cared about him. She couldn't be any more forward without being intrusive. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't ask him to lay bear his whole soul for her. He'd already done it for someone else. So she didn't finish. 

Stay: Truth hurts

Truth? You want the truth? 

True, it would be hypocritical of me to tout honesty and not be honest myself. 

Okay, I'll tell you the truth: If I left with nothing but this slim memory of him, it would have been worth it. If he were the only connection I ever made, it would be worth it. 

Yes, that is why I'd stay. For him.

Because he's human even when he tries not to be. Because beneath it all, he's... tactile. He has substance you can feel.

That is the real truth. 

Okay, okay. I concede It's not the real real truth.

Well, I haven't said it because it hurts. And that's the real real truth. 

That we both hurt the same way.

Yes, for that I'd stay.  

Stay: WHY?!!?

She'd done it, she'd shot herself in the foot. Countless, through countless conversations she'd played it cool--perfect for once, for the first time in her life, actually. 

And then she pointed the gun down. 

She should have stopped then. She could have stopped; it wouldn't have been abnormal. 

She could have walked away with the gun pointed towards the ground. 

Awkward?? Maybe. The better choice??

Absolutely.

Instead? Instead she stood there, and smiling all the while, she pulled the trigger.

Limping, she walked away hitting her head against her own embarrassment. She'd been doing so well. Maybe he hadn't noticed. Maybe he didn't see the blood or hear the shot.

Not likely. 

Stay

She wanted to be real with him. Honest. No bull. None of this superficiality.

None of this chit-chat because that's what social norm requires.

She knew he was deeper than he let on--by the way he spoke. He used the same voice she used when she was speaking to someone she didn't know yet, someone she didn't trust, someone who didn't care that her favorite color was gray or that she did weird things like yoga and meditating and feeling energy between her hands.

His was a careful voice, too nervous to be calculated. Insecure. Uncertain. Guarded--that's the word--Guarded. Just like hers, because she did weird things.

The truth is though, she'd stay for that voice. She second-guessed God for that voice. Not because of what it was, but because of what it could be. Not because of what it had said, but because of what it would say.

She just wanted him to trust her. She wanted him to use his real voice, the internal dialogue she knew he had. More than anything.

Because they had the same voice.