He’d start by telling her she was beautiful.
She’d laugh in Old Fashioned and
His throat would burn at the bitter taste of it.
“You’re used to pain, and I am no exception,”
Is what she would say.
She’d hide the corners of her mouth from him
They lived in a house made of only walls
Half of the years were quiet
The other half sounded like crunching glass
She was the one
Who taught him how to dance.
They both hurt
In that needy kind of way
If she turned away from him she’d know
That hell would freeze over.
He’d try again.
“I’m sorry that this is the way I am,” he’d say
And turn his pockets inside out looking for the sunshine
She hid in them on days when she knew he needed it most
Like burning coals
He was always freezing.
He had never yearned before.
She wouldn’t look at him
And so he turned the house into a hall of mirrors.
He’d think himself a failure and secretly
She’d shatter watching him.
She was good at hiding the pain.
He was good at seeing it anyway.
The nights were cold
But winter there always was.
They both kept the fireplace on at night
When the other wasn’t home.
He’d think she was a miracle
That he was fortunate enough to bear witness to.
She’d think him a conundrum
But her favorite kind to solve.
Time would laugh at them both
Because like them, the seasons were inevitable.
He’d speak until his tongue burned
And eventually, she'd show him the corners of her mouth.
The next day the house would be torn down completely
And all the glass mirrors shattered.
In the morning they would wake up
And dance atop a forest full of flowers.