he was pacing

He was pacing, his large paws quaking the ground as they hit, his nails clicking the hard concrete with each step, his massive head held down low, eyes on the floor. He was breathing hard, waiting, waiting, watching, but nothing was coming. He stopped, took a large breath, taking in all the swarming smells that were flowing smoothly into his nostrils. He shook his head, the thick coat around his neck swaying back and forth, orange and black glimmering looking through the bars.

Where was she? She was never late. She always came at the same time, when the sun was high in the sky, bearing meat and extra cold water. But she was not here yet today, and the sun was too far west for his liking. He sat back on his hind legs, leaning against the cool bars, trying to shade some of the heat from being absorbed by the orange and black stripes in his coat. He growled under his breath, a low forceful moan seeping out of his mouth.

A noise. He got up, frantically stomping in front of the bars, the noise getting louder. He could hear her familiar footsteps, the sound of her laughter, a deep throaty sound that gave the immense feline shivers every time he heard it. He stuck out his tongue in anticipation of the treats should would be bringing him today. His yellow eyes watched as the shadow turned the corner, excited. He loved when she stepped inside his enclosure and sat with him on the grass. He would nuzzle her sides as she scratched behind his ears. He hoped she would indulge him with a belly rub today. He hummed softly to himself, still pacing swiftly back and forth.

Two voices. He turned his head, his fierce eyes narrowing suspiciously. Why were there two voices? And another was decidedly masculine. He felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on end, he didn’t like this, sharing his space with someone else other than her. She walked around the corner, trailing behind her was second figure, decidedly taller and more muscular than she.

He growled low, a warning sound moving through the metal bars. She tensed, frowning in his direction. She put a hand on the other’s chest, a movement that made him snarl, and walked over to the bars. He pressed his head against the cold metal, his thick fur pushing through the openings, purring deeply, rhythmically alongside the increasing beating of his heart. She walked to the side of the enclosure, opening the bars deftly and quickly with a silver key tied was around her neck. He met her eagerly, pushing his enormous head against her hip, nuzzling the side of her body.

She was warm, in her shorts and tank top, he could feel the heat of her body against his head, his cheeks, through his fur. She sat on the grass a little ways away from the opening of the enclosure. He followed, sprawling out on his back, laying his head in her lap. He purred louder when she laughed, running her thin, tanned fingers over his cheeks. He opened his jaw to lick her with a bright pink tongue, rough against her leg.

He turned. The other one was coming through the door, hesitantly. He rolled onto his side, the ground shuttering slightly as the weight of his paws hit the soft soil. He looked at her, suddenly furious, jealous, of her sleep smile. Why didn’t she smile at him like that? He got up onto all fours, slowly walking over to the other one. He looked back at her, watched her as she got to her feet, her face changing from pleasure to worry. Good, he thought. The other shouldn’t be in here when she was with him. She was his.

He snarled, and the other stopped. He turned around, his back to the other one, and stood in front of her. She looked at him with suspicious as he began to walk towards her and push in deeper into his world. He heard the footsteps of the other one try to follow, and just turned his head, eyes glowing like fire, baring his sharp teeth, daring him to come any closer. He pressed her farther inward, a little bit harder against her leg. She resisted, but she was no match for him. He looked up at her face, illuminated by the midday sun, her blue eyes sparkling like the pool of water he liked to swim in when it got hot out. She frowned at him, pushing him away from her, and he was suddenly ashamed.

He stopped. She walked around his large body, shaking her head at him, not looking back. He didn’t want her to go and let out a soft mew of displeasure. He sat back on his haunches, and watched her walk away. He growled as she ambled up to the other, hurt and alone. He hung his head heavily, sorrowfully. And stayed there until he felt the coolness of the night creeping up his back from the sun disappearing. He laid down, his back to the bars, sighing greatly as he looked out over the great expanse of his home.

Sometime in the night, he felt soft footsteps on the ground, the vibration tickling his legs and chin. He could smell her skin, freshly washed, though he didn’t like when she did that. She was humming, a sweet sound whispering through the air into his ears. She stood in front of him, and though it gave him great pleasure that she came back to him, he didn’t show it. She huffed impatiently, kneeling into the cool dirt, touching his white belly with her soothing hands, rubbing his fur, her hands back and forth. He sighed contently, still refusing to open his eyes. She curled up against his warm belly, and laid with him.

She came back as he had hoped he would.

_

he touched her shoulders

He touched her shoulders. Inhaling her sweet scent of vanilla and flowers. They were soft, and smooth, skin of a goddess. Maybe that was what she was, but it didn’t bother him. Tonight, maybe forever, she was his. And whatever she was, he would devour her all and all, without the slightest hesitation, even if it meant it might kill him, it might begin something within him that might never end. 

He rubbed a hand down one of her shoulders, feeling the tender soft skin under his calloused hands. She moved into his hand, welcoming the warmth, mumbling somewhere in between sleep and wake. He looked at her back, watching all her muscles come alive every time she breathed. Her hair was splayed messily across her beige pink skin, the brown in deep contrast to it. He ran his finger tips over on her back, spelling out words, like the game he used to play as a child on the playground. Spell out the word, and have the other person guess what it was. She giggled quietly, ticklish and sexy.

He brushed his lips over the small of her back, skin cold from lack of a cover, him having taken off the white bed sheet she had had around her during the night. Goosebumps prickled her skin. He touched his lips to a hip, feeling her jut forward slightly, another rumble of laughter coming from above his head. He felt her move, lay on her side, looking down at him through waves of curly hair. He looked at her red lips, plump with pleasure, a bottom corner tucked into her teeth. Her eyes were bright with confusion, not sure what he was trying to do. 

He put his chin on her thigh, grinning up at her, his hands on both sides of her legs. He moved his fingers, the tips of them tickling her gently again. She moved a hand, brushing a curly brown strand behind her ear, revealing pink cheeks, flush with excitement. Her smile was timid, shy, unexpecting. She reached down to touch his face, but he pulled his head out of the way, just beyond her reach. Annoyance flickered across her face, annoyed that he was playing with her, toying with her. He smiled, holding a finger to his lips, kissing it, and touching his fingers to her belly. 

He moved over her, crawling up her sides, putting his weight on her body. She rolled on to her back, her hands by her face, a peak of a smile trying to edge into her mouth. He hovered over her, leaning on his elbows, his face just above hers. He kissed her forehead, her eyes closed, awaiting the next place. She arched her back just barely, touching her hips into his. He moved his way in between her thighs. He kissed the side of her head, again inhaling vanilla and flowers, feeling her giggle radiate all throughout her body. It vibrated. He looked into her glowing eyes. 

He kissed her mouth, tasting honey, nectar, wondering what it must be like, what it would be like to taste this every day, every morning. He leaned on her chest, feeling warm mounds underneath him, moving up and down with every slow, easy breath. He curled his fingers through her soft hair, brushing his thumb over her cheeks, the side of her head, looking at her sleepy eyes, not yet fully awake. A sleepy smile that hadn’t fully awaken yet. He kissed her nose and she smiled shyly, jutting her chin up, trying to get him to kiss her again. 

He moved his hands to hers, intertwining his fingers through hers, and kissed her again. He kissed her deeply, breathing life into it, taking life from it. He felt his heart hammer against his chest, against her chest, his eyes tightly shut, he couldn’t see her, but he could feel her. He moved his hands, stretching out her arms, holding them tightly above his head. 

He buried his head into her neck, whispering, whispering, wondering, wondering, waiting, waiting. 

Waiting.   
_

a dream...

He opened his eyes, awakened by the crisp morning air. There were sharp pains, like tree needles, on his shoulders. Pinecones, with snowflakes whispering their little landing notes in the crevices, poked and prodded his black skin, tiny prickles leaving their marks by the dozen. He winced, pulling out the spikes and spindles. Next to him, he felt movement as she rolled over, waking up, opening her sparkling blue eyes, dazed by the early rising sun. She pressed her fists into the ground. Morning had come, and that meant their night was over. She grimaced, her back aching from the hard, cold ground, chilly shivers reverberating through her body. He sat up and looked over at her.

She was pretty. Like twinkles in the sky. He was bronzed against her skin; hers like porcelain as she leaned her shoulders against his back. There was hardly a sound, whispers crept along the picturesque snow fields, wind blew through her blonde hair.

            She sat up, not knowing what she was going to do next. Her skin, sweat soaked, pieces of her hair stuck to her forehead. Her breath turned to vapors in the cold morning air. She shivered. She looked around, grabbing the warm blanket that lay crumbled just beyond her reach. She stretched her body out, reaching with her spread fingers. Her companion, reacting to the movement, turned around. He surveyed her sprawling back, naked, without a clothing piece draping across. He smiled. Their clothes lay in a pile next to a bottle of wine that had been knocked over in a fit of passion.

            She stretched a bit further when he placed his hand on the small of her back. It was large enough that he could curl his thumb around one hip and his fingers around the other hip. She sighed, her heart swelling at his touch. She turned back towards her lover, grasping his hand in hers, taking it to her lips. She closed her eyes, and kissed his fingers, each one at a time. He groaned and she tugged him closer, taking his head in her free hand. He knelt down, his head at her bare breasts. His lips took one cold nipple in his mouth, pushing on the tip with his tongue. She pushed her chest out, arching her back and moaned.

            Swiftly, he moved, grabbing her back and slid his arms around her body, bringing her close to him. He closed his eyes when her breasts touched his chest. She reacted violently. She plunged her tongue in his mouth and pulled him down on her. She scratched his back, dragging her nails across his skin. Thin red lines appeared. She jutted her hips, hitting his, revealing how much she wanted him. He obliged. He lifted himself off her and plunged back down. His moan, louder than hers, frightened some nearby slumbering birds. Their squawks made the two lovers laugh quietly. He buried his head in her warm neck while his hips pushed inside and pulled out, rhythm flowing through his body, like he was dancing to a song only he could hear. Her breathing became heavier, sweat beads forming on her body, her fingers grabbing and holding onto his hips, guiding him to her pleasure.

            At her request, he moaned louder each time he re-entered her. Sexuality charged the atmosphere, like sparks of lightening just before a strike. She arched her back. Quick as a flash, he lifted her into his lap, her face was looking down at his. She straddled his body, placing her hands on his hard chest, holding herself up. She moved her hips, throwing her head back when she couldn’t take it anymore. He sat up slightly, aroused and feral, biting her shoulder as his body tensed. He let go of her shoulder, a droplet of blood on his lip. She looked down; there were scarlet pearls slowly sliding towards her breasts.

            The drops traveled down her collarbone. He kissed them, tasting the liquid. Its sweetness surprised him. His pupils dilated. Something fierce grazed his face as instinct took over. She watched his transformation, intrigued. She touched the stain, fingertips grazing the lines glistening red in the moonlight. She touched her wet fingers to his lips. She traced their pillowy outline as they glittered with her blood; his eyes narrowed, attack mode. He pounced, rolling her over, pushing his body weight on top of her. She laughed a wild, untamed feral sound that filled the surrounding forests with corresponding howls from the wolves that lived in the surrounding forest.

            Recharged, he fought his way inside her, rage and passion a mixture he couldn’t tell the difference between. She engaged him, grabbing at his back, pushing her legs on the inside of his, forcing them apart.

            His eyes closed. She could feel his hands groping, titillating her nipples, causing her to allow him more access to her body, matching his own intensity. He moved his hands, digging them into the dirt besides her head, raising up his body and driving his hips into her wetness. He arched, and pulsed. A grinding moan, a shudder, another push. She was caught by surprise. She didn’t expect the sudden rush; she giggled, as he lay his body gently back on top of hers.

            She cradled his head in the groove of her shoulder. The moon was slow in the sky, and she could see beginnings of dawn. Red and pink colors glittered the horizon. A long while, they laid together. She thought she heard him whisper….

Sleep

She drifted in through the folds of the curtains, a handbag jingling at her side, swaying with movement and the wind. She smirked to herself, gliding over the bed, looking down over the sleeping figures. A man curling his arm around a woman, his chest to her back, his chin, his lips resting on her shoulders. They were breathing so easily, so quietly together.

Sleep reached into her bag, iridescent, though with the low moonlight, only a pale glow emanated from her skin. Or what would be considered her skin. She frowned, bringing it to her face, cold eyes surveying the colors, trying to remember when it was human, if it was ever human. She returned her hand to her bag, dipping slim fingers into the brown pouch. White pearlesque sand pouring through her fingers, falling like rain onto the sleeping lovers below her. She sprinkled it gently over the bed, the grains disappearing into their skin, their sheets. She floated down, bearing down close over the man, taking in his smell.

Her eyes glowed red as she inhaled his scent, taking a hand, curving it over his cheek. She pulled back startled, as if burned by fire, when he turned over, away from his lover, but settled back down next to him. She ran finger down his forearm, watching as his skin reacted to her touch, the hairs on his arm rising. She drifted over him, bringing her cold face to his, kissing his warm lips with her icy ones. As she kissed him, she sprinkled more white sand over him, his breaths becoming slow and deep, calm and content. She took her lips from his own, sorry for leaving the warmth he radiated, lovingly running a hand over his cheeks, through his hair.

She peeked over the man’s shoulder, eyes returning to their normal black, fierce and calculating. She moved over him, resting on his lover’s shoulder, her own ghostly body rigid. She drifted onto the other side of the woman, onto the ground alongside the bed, placing her hands under her chin, watching the woman sleep peacefully. Her eyes glowed, darker than black, eerie, from the worlds beyond. Her body transformed into a more solid force, instead of visible air, she became like water contained. Her hair turned black, conforming to the current color of her eyes.

Sleep opened her coat, reaching far deep inside it, and pulled out the tiniest of bags. It was smaller than the palm of her hand, the velvet shading drifting from red to black, depending on the moonlight. She opened the pouch, and poured a very fine black dust into her pale palm. She pinched a small amount between her thumb and finger and scattered it over the woman’s face. The woman’s breathing stopped momentarily, her face scrunched, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. Sleep watched, quietly, maliciously, waiting.

Slowly, tears fell from the woman’s face as she began to weep in her dreams. 

_

he burns

He burns, the fire in their hearts, without him they do not live, have reason to live. He burns, cold or hot, night or day. Time does not matter. He does not care. The fire knows the flames, knows what he can do. He watches all the people staring at him, gawking, wondering, awed by the story that the colors burn in their eyes for them. They watch, transfixed by his power, all knowing and deadly if they come too close. He knows that they look at him for light, for warmth, to feel alive. He sees it in their eyes when they stare, pupils moving along with the flames. They dance tonight, in the pale moon's rays, moving their bodies, swaying to the music of his flames, waves of color flowing in and out of them. He grows as the night moves on, feeding off rhythm and tension, delight and sorrow. He strives to make them come to him, he loves it, they live for him, they die because of him.

But then, he sees her. She is in the back, hidden from his flames, they do not alight her face. She is, instead, illuminated by the shadows he is creating. Her eyes, he cannot see. Softly pale skin, radiating light, a slight coolness he can feel from the distance, perhaps everyone else can, too, for they move unwittingly away from her as she moves. She won’t move towards him, though, she does not follow his heat like the others, his lure to bring them in close and capture their hearts. She stays back, she watches everyone else. His flames flicker, agitated, when she starts to walk, not towards him, to his disappointment. The fire burns a darker shade of red, wondering why he was disappointed. She will come to him, they always do.

The fire burns a little brighter, trying to get his light out past the couple layers of people, trying to entice her in with temptation and desire, a chance to feel warmth. His flames dance in the moonlight, writhing in between the shadows of man and nature alike, trying to touch her face. But she moves in and out of the shadows, like nothing he has ever seen. His flames burn orange, angry that he cannot touch her, get her to come his way. He watches as her hands grace the backs of the people she is walking behind, and he turns, as she moves slowly around his base, picking up good pieces of wood, here and there. Blue flickers within his flames at the sight of her hand on something else.

But, then, she’s gone. His flames flare wildly as he tries to peek around, rising as high as he can go, above the heads of the crowd. He sees nothing, his temperature flaring, wondering how she could’ve gone right by him without his noticing. There hadn’t been any awkward movement in the crowd. She just disappeared. His flames burn, the heat intense, causing bystanders to back away. They pounce onto some nearby grass, startling a man, who quickly kicks cool dirt over it. The fire turns, snapping out a tendril of red, burning the bystander. The heat leaves a singe on his shirt, causing him to point at the fire. Others start to gather, but he wishes they didn’t. They began blocking his view, he couldn’t see past them. He feels a cool edge on his side, alarmed at the lack of a flame in the area. He feels another, this time behind him. They were trying to put him out. Before he had a chance to gaze at her, to have her feel him. His flames spread out, but every time they touched a new patch of soil, they were put out.

He turns orange, gathering heat from the bystanders without them realizing it, some feeling faint with the fatigue he was exerting out of them. He grew, and he grew, expansive, red, white, orange, some blue escaping his grasp, he was uncontrollable now, how dare they try to interfere with his game, his plan to get her to him, to have her feel his warmth, embrace him for what he was. He towers over everyone, a tight spiral of glowing embers, higher and wider he got, everyone moving away, frightened he would scald them. He shields all of them from his view, trying but failing at keeping his flares close, growing hotter, more dangerous, ever deadly. Out of control and white, flames licking everything within reach, that reach growing further out, scared he wouldn’t see her again.

And then he feels her. She’s looking at him, she was still holding onto the pieces of wood, gazing at his magnificent flames. He watches her as a bystander comes to her side, pulling, tugging on her arm, to get her away from his heat. He lashes out, red and orange, nicking the bystander’s skin, making him angry. The bystander tugs on her arm more forcefully, she stumbled into that direction. But she moves her arm out of the byst­ander’s grasp, shaking her head, gazing directly his face. The bystander stutters a few words, backing away as his lips continue to move. She turns away and looks up.

And he sees her eyes for the first time. They are the same color as his flames, they were changing as he was changing, flickering as he did. She continues to gaze at him, intense and unwavering, and he knows she will not be the first one to look away. White trickles into him, blue on the edges, he’s uncomfortable with this affect she has. He gets smaller, letting go of the red and the orange, condensing into only a bit of fury and fatigue. She looks at him, again, blinking only once in the infernal heat. Her face is highlighted with pink, rose tints of the bitter cold that lay just beyond his reach, dark circles under her eyes, watery tears threatening to escape. 

He burns.

She reaches out a slightly glowing hand, sparkling fingers moving gracefully against his flames, caressing his tips, flicking on the insides of his bloom. Momentarily orange, for no one dares to challenge him, to touch him, she keeps her hand inside, palm open, letting him brush her skin. Scorch marks start appearing, and he growls as she starts to wince, but not at the burn, but that she is letting him burn her. She closes her eyes, grimacing deeply yet embracing his pain, knowing he is hurting her, willingly, on purpose, for a reason. Whiter and bluer he becomes, not understanding why his defense, his reasoning isn’t working, why she’s not flustered and scared. That was not how it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to take her life.

She looks around, barely a moment’s hesitation. She does the unthinkable, no one has ever done this, she moves closer, he cannot stop her, he cannot stop himself, she is surrounded. He feels her swirl around him, move within him, releasing herself within him. He feels her colors let go, feels some darker reds, almost blacks, but whites brighter than he thought possible, yellows and pinks, flames he wasn’t even aware existed, they fill him up, he devours them. He wants more, he takes all of her, wants all that she is willing to give.

 He suddenly turns blue, weary, shaky, lost, unsure. This is out of his control, he understands, this is painful, he is not supposed to hurt, this is not supposed to hurt him. He cannot do this. He tries to force her out, searing her flesh, pulling it from her body. Still she remains in his blazing tendrils, contorting her face, eyes tightly shut, muscles trembling, a howl escaping her lips. But it is not flesh he takes, he realizes, only light and heat. And when he feels the iridescent flame, so hot he remembers how to feel alive, he knows only that he wants to burn, continue to burn, always burn.

For her.
_

he walked

she paced outside

He walked over the threshold of their house, together. Even though a moment ago, she walked away from him. They argued a lot, he hated it. This time, though, it was his fault, he knew that. He wouldn’t listen to her, threw a plate. He was still carrying her when he stepped over the shattered pieces of black ceramic she had spent months looking for. He kissed her on her forehead, his way to apologize. Words weren’t enough in this case.

She looked up at him, her eyes still clouded with discomfort and confusion. She tapped his shoulder to have him put her down onto the soft carpet, her feet burned from the cold and red. She walked a bit away from him, turning her back to him, her attempt to turn herself away from his charms. Her eyes flew to the broken plate on the ground, noticing that he hadn’t tried to clean it up before coming outside after her. That gave her some satisfaction. Until she remembered why he had yelled at her. Someone else? She frowned, shook her head, angry again.

She looked passed him at the food on the stove in the kitchen. The smell was intoxicating, engrossing, overwhelming. The roast was sitting, still steaming, atop the range, potatoes gleaming in the candlelight that also remained. The wicks were burning down low, red, white, blue reflected off the glass on the kitchen cabinets. The large table was half set, the plates on the wooden surface. She walked over to it, gliding her hand over the smooth oak. It had a bench on one side, two chairs opposite with one on each end also.

“Do you remember when you made this for me?” she asked in her quiet voice. She didn’t expect an answer, really, just wanted to ignite a memory that felt good to her heart.

He nodded slightly, hands stuffed back in his pockets, cheeks blushing, eyes dark. They had clouded over, just as they always did when she brought up his woodworking. The table had been her birthday present.

“You paid such close attention to the detail. Blue prints and everything,” she continued, dragging her hands over the edges where the he had carved their names in cursive. It was so beautiful, he had spent hours carving the script, sometimes dead into the night using candlelight, just like the bright flames that were flickering from the middle of the table. “You spent days, maybe weeks at lumber yards, looking for the perfect oak. Almost matches your eyes.” She looked up at him, smiling slightly. “You wasted almost nothing, didn’t you?”

Again, he nodded his head. He had been slowly walking towards the table, unbeknownst to her. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, moving it along the opposite edge of the table, his fingers covering more space than hers, knowing how much effort he had put into this table for her.

“You saw something similar in a magazine. I remember,” he smiled, in spite of the situation, his voice deep and husky.

“You always do,” she replied, a shy smile snaking its way to the corners of her mouth.

He followed her unhurriedly around the table, eyeing her trembling legs, shivering shoulders. He sighed to himself when she looked up at him, her lip tucked slightly in between her teeth, an innocent look that he almost couldn’t resist. He grinned at her, knowingly.

She giggled, shooting a look towards the door. She tried to play a right, but he saw her eyes, giving her away and ran on her opposite, after her. She laughed as he tackled her down onto the soft carpet, making sure that his body lay underneath hers, protected from hitting the ground. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, pinning her arms down to her sides so she couldn’t shove him off. He held her as she lay on top of him, his breathing mimicking hers, his chest deflating as hers inflated. He put his face to her neck, her chin to her shoulders, kissing her soft skin. She turned her head towards him, her lips brushing over his. He moved his hands, swiftly, to her head, and kissed her, so deeply, so tightly. She turned over, facing him, her legs on the sides of his waist. She put her hands to the sides of his head, combing her delicate fingers through his hair. He ran his hands up the sides of her small body, taking her shirt with them. He flipped her over, a swift motion, startling her, making her laugh, the soft carpet against her back, her shoulders, feeling like clouds, her breasts moving like water in the motion.

He buried his face into her chest, humming as he went, goose bumps enveloping her. He pulled off her shorts as he moved downward, keeping one hand spread across her belly, palm pressed gently against it. He stood, awkwardly, lit by the candlelight behind her, the shadows playing against his athletic thighs, enhancing the muscles of his stomach. The shadows covers his face, she couldn’t read his emotions. He knelt beside her, kissing his way up to her mouth, settling on top of her, smiling into her lips.

“It’s getting kind of long,” she murmured, twisting a lock between her index finger and thumb. She leaned into him and kissed he again, a soft wisp of a kiss, just enough to taste his lips.

“How did we get this far? So quickly?” he said, running his hands down her sides, moving them in between her thighs. He leaned into her, causing her to arch, as he moved again, hands on the sides of his face, her mouth on his.

“Trust,” she whispered.

she pushed away from him

it was windy out..

She pushed away from him, red glaring from her eyes, candlelight flickering off her cold skin. You left, she said. You know what you did, what you were doing. Tears flowed from her eyes, salt rivers of heartache and want. Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her again.

He stared at her, the confidence leaving him, helplessness overtaking him. He tried to touch her face again, reaching out with a calloused hand, slightly dirty from not having showered for hours. She shoved his hand away, tension rising from her feet to her shoulders like heat off the desert floor. Heartbreak pulsed through her body as her heart beat faster, not quite sure how to respond.

I didn’t leave, he grumbled, putting his fingers through his hair in a rough manner. He was impatient, startled by the temper that was coming off the woman in front of him.

What would you call it then? You were gone. From me, she snarled, anger tipping into her words. She put her hands to her face, attempting to reign in the fear that threatened to overtake her. She sat on her ottoman, elbows to her knees, soft hair falling around her face.

I had to leave. You knew that going in, he said, softly. He shook his head, frustrated the conversation had taken this turn. She looked at him with such wide, innocent eyes that he almost fell to his knees, she was so beautiful. Cheeks flushed with anger and chill, she looked almost ethereal.

I thought… she began, unable to finish, liquid crystals falling from her eyes in a steady stream now.

You thought what? That I would stop everything I had, my life, because of you? His anger replaced the helplessness, unrightfully so, but he couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it hadn’t been his plan at all.  

No. No. That’s not it, at all. I understand all that. But, I thought that you and I…that we had… She couldn’t finish, just looking at him with all the world resting on her shoulders. You left! she yelled, defeated.

I didn’t leave! I needed time. I’m here, aren’t I? Waiting for you, wasn’t I? he snapped back. She backed away from him, up against the door she had just moments ago come running through, letting her arms fall to her sides, her breathing heavy and aching.

He grimaced as he remembered the wrenching that driving away had done to his heart. But he had to leave her to know what it was that he was leaving, even just for the moment that he did. Didn’t he? He wasn’t so sure now. How could he tell her that, how could she understand that? He looked into her face, watching her heart turn to stone. He was going to lose her, because he never should have left her. He knew that now. Oh, how he knew that now.  

I didn’t know… He began, trying to figure out how to get through to her. I left because…

He couldn’t do it. He didn’t have the courage. He fell to the ground, on his knees, and sat back on his heels. His hands lay open on his thighs, his shoulders slumped forward. He looked up at her, his heart dropping even more when he saw she hadn’t moved from the door. He watched as she turned her back on him, her hand on the brass doorknob, her forehead leaning against it.

You left me. And now. I’m leaving, she said, so quietly he had to lean forward on his thighs to hear her.

Please, he whispered. Please, don’t leave.

Her back still to him, forehead still on the door frame, hand turning the knob, she answered, Why should I stay?

Because I love you.

it was windy out

It was windy out, dead in the night. She was sitting on the wall, waiting, wondering when he would return to her. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. Hours. Felt like days. Maybe it was days. She had seen him only once, but that’s all she needed. His deep soulful eyes, brimming with curiosity, intense so much so that it made her shiver, devouring her whole even now when he was long gone. Believe in something, he had told her. Believe in my words, in my heart, in me. And so she had and now she was left with a broken heart, empty room, empty hands.

What a world we live in, she mused to herself, remembering all the things that have happened to her in the past years, not able to imagine what her life would have been like without those memories. She looked at her hands, small and slightly tanned from being outside all day. It was just the beginning of summer, just beginning to change seasons again, even though the weather around her only changed once a year. She missed him so much it hurt even to think about it, to even remember it, even though she knew she never wanted to forget. Love of her life, as short as it had been so far.

She hopped off the wall, landing sharply, her toes tingling from the sensation, hurting slightly. The wind blew harshly against her face, burning her cheeks red. She dug her hands into her pockets, moving quickly back towards home. No lights came from her windows, no lights except the slight flickering of a candle, far from the glass. She saw a shadow move inside the home, startling her still.

Her mind raced as she took off, running, tripping, falling onto the cold concrete, scraping her palms raw as she kept herself upright. She bounded up the steps, two at a time, not hoping only trying to make it true. She opened her front door, out of breathe, hands on her knees, inhaling roughly, and looking up. Her eyes took their time adjusting to the dim lights, trying to take in the movements. He stood, leaning against her countertop in her kitchen. She couldn’t see his face, but the candle illuminated his silhouette, the length of his arms, the rounding of his shoulders.

You came back, she whispered, edgy and nervous.

He walked slowly over to her, putting his hands behind her head, running his fingers through her hair, as she buried her face into his palm.

I never left, he mumbled back, kissing her.

_

he would be crushed

He would be crushed. Because she lied. Because she moved faster. Because it’s another reminder of why he’s different, not worth the effort.

But these are dark paths that have no real meaning except the understanding that he is voluntarily causing his own heart break.

Why can’t he be angry at her, he wonders. Why he can’t resent her for the decisions she made, those that were not in anyone’s best interests, he remembers.

She was gone so quickly. Life changed so quickly. And he understands, and knew then that it would be a struggle, the effort. And while he can do it, sometimes he just doesn’t. And sometimes he does. But even now he knows that it wasn’t enough. They needed more, because they were more. He was unique, and so was she. So the solution cannot be, could not be the same, it has to be unique as well.

She is lonely, he can hear it. Depressed and disappointed in the changes she’s made. And yes this violent monster erupts when he thinks about her moving on because she should be moving towards him, back with him. Is this him holding on to her? Because he knows she doesn’t think, feel like this.

But he still wants to know what she thinks about. Is it him? Is it how she ages, her own age? Her mistakes? A fear, that in trying so hard to be risk free of the world, the biggest risk involved no reasoning? She was right in that it was, is difficult. But he thinks it’s more so for her, and in his heart, he knows she needs him to be there, pulling him through it. So it remains an open wound, because they are not near each other enough to close it.

So unless one of them makes a move, it will never be closed.

…

the road curved

The road curved, it wound, it curled around the mountain, overgrowth hanging into the street. It was a road not well traveled, alone and dark most of the time. Two lanes of highway, sometimes not even large enough for bypassing cars. No middle marker dividing the lane, nothing to distinguish one side from another. The sky was darkened, clouds hanging low over the road, pushing up against the mountains, soaking the flora with soft droplets of water.

 A lone wolf walked the concrete ground, the pads on the bottoms of his paws barely making a sound. She stops in the middle of the road, looking to each side, listening closely to the sounds of the surrounding forest. She’d been alone for a few days now, having strayed from her pack, leaving them. There were bite marks, scratch marks that trailed up the sides of her legs, open wounds the still bled freely, lightly, but freely. She was panting from running, the weight of her heavy winter coat slowing her down. She was so tired.

She shook her shaggy head, grays and whites shaking in the low clouds, her yellow eyes staring out into the distance before her. She looked behind her, in front of her, behind her again. And then she heard the howl, reverberating off the branches, the soil, the ground, the clouds. It was all around her. She took off running, her legs and her paws burning with pain, on fire as the blood seeped in between her toes, leaving scarlet paw prints in her wake. The howl came again, causing her to run faster down the increasingly dark path, not taking in where she was going, what direction she was going in.

She was afraid of that howl. She knew where it came from, who was making it. Her mind was racing so fast that she almost stumbled over a rock in the road, not having noticed it. She tried to keep from falling onto the cold concrete, but her paws gave way to the slipperiness of the path, and she fell. The momentum of the running caused her to roll furiously across the road. When she came to a stop, she just laid there, panting, hurting, angry. She tried to move, but her muscles screamed at her not to. She put her head back down onto the road, focusing on the light pitter patter as it came down on her snout, her eyelids.

Suddenly, the drops from the clouds ceased. She opened one eye, and her heart stopped. The sound of the howl had found her, in the shape a large brownish white wolf, teeth bared. He was so large, that at first, she thought he might have been a bear. But he was a different kind of enemy. His head loomed over her, blocking rain and fading sunlight alike. He looked down at her, lowering his snout to hers. He licked her cheek a couple of times, causing her to whimper. She tried to lift her own head, to move away from him, slowly putting weight on her exhausted feet. She trembled while he sat hunched back on his hinds, waiting, calculating, evaluating.

She tried to run from him, she tried to get away. But he caught up to her easily, alongside her damp winter coat, nudging her with his snout, bruised and bloody, like her legs. She growled, hackles raising, warning him to stay away from her, trying to turn into another direction. Wind swept up them both, blowing through their fur, rustling the leaves on the branches, leaves falling and flying within its grasp.

Clouds wisped around them, covering them, shielding them, though try as she might, every time she turned away, hiding behind the increasingly thick fog, he was constantly in front of her, facing her, wouldn’t let her turn away from him. He rubbed his head against the side of her neck, causing her to react defensively, snapping her jaws in his direction, almost catching his muzzle in her sharp teeth. He looked at her, eyes so dark brown, they appeared black. She growled ferociously, cautioning his actions, making sure he knew he shouldn’t get any closer.  

He moved to her side again, and just stood next to her, not touching her, not making any efforts to. She kept growling, snapping at him, breaking skin on his foreleg. He snapped back, startling her out of her focus. He shuttered as the pain swept through him again, releasing a small howl. His ears lay flat on against his head, the wound bleeding furiously, puddles of red pooling around his toes, her toes alike. He dipped on his knees, splashes coming out from the sides, wetting her fur. But he would not leave her, he would not attack her.

She looked at him, her anger dissipating, upset with herself for causing him pain. She moved closer to him, putting her muzzle under his own, understanding.     

a letter from me to them

He expected her to change, he expected her to adapt to him. Which she had done. The changes he had gone through in the past have been enormous. And positive on the whole. He had survived, which is the best and only thing he could have done, and he did it. The problem comes from the fact that while she had been accepting all this in the face, standing up against it all, he had done nothing, made no attempt. There is a difference between what is being asked of him, and what he makes an effort to do. There is a difference between a mother buying flowers for her daughter because she knows her daughter is upset, and him buying flowers for her because he knows he did something wrong. Effort.

Something broke when he separated; there is no doubt about that. But things that are broken are and can be fixed. But what he may not realize, and probably doesn’t, is that when something breaks, it’s never identically repaired again. It’s never the same. What he has failed to realize is that it broke for a reason. A weak bridge cannot sustain its weight, so it folds, implodes, on itself. But the bridge isn’t rebuilt the same way, it’s reinforced, it’s made better. That’s how it works.

             And so he failed to realize this. He still fails to realize this. He broke something very strong. And it took a lot for him to do this. And she let it happen. She’s done fighting with people about whether or not it’s something that needed to be done. Though, she's still a proponent about living in the now, what is now versus what could happen. Things change, people change, every day. He thought that her friendship with him can return to what it was. No. That will never happen, because she doesn’t want that type of relationship anymore. Because there was something inherently wrong with it to begin with. That is why things break, and he needs to understand that it does not matter that he broke something, only that it did. He cannot keep acting the same way towards her and still get the same results. More importantly, and to take most of the heat, he changed her. Which means also that he cannot act and react towards her the same way he had in past and expect the same results for the present and the future. That’s how things grow: they change, they adapt, they evolve, and they are never the same again.
          What she needs for him to do is understand that every situation is different, every argument feels and looks different. That she reacts a different way every single time, so no matter how much he thinks he has a hold on something, her. It becomes a power thing, a control thing, between him and her. And letting go of that power is where she, herself, has faltered, because it’s like a fortune teller, it's like destiny. She knows what will happen and the only thing she can do is watch. What she tries to do is alter how the situation plays in real time. And perhaps that is something that she should stop doing. The less she tries to control, the more she ends up actually controlling. She has been burned. But only because she has done her own burning done first.

the spider glided over her web

The spider glided over her web, her toes gracefully moving over the lines of silk that were stretching from the branches. The sun was shining on her back, dewy and drowsy from the morning wake. She was looking over her territory, wondering if anything had come in during the night. She hadn’t felt anything, but it never helped to check what might have crept in.

She looked over the moths that had already been caught, some more than others. Some wiggled against their death cocoons, others just lay still, knowing that to struggle wouldn’t make a difference. She watched, maybe a bit sad for the ones who had given over their lives to her, for her insatiable appetite.

The winds blew against her web, the dew drops raining down to the forest floor. She hid back under a leaf when she spotted a butterfly fly closely to her home. Her many eyes could only barely capture the color that radiated from the butterfly’s wings, blues and greens and grays. Her heart soared as the butterfly landed on the very edge of her silken strands, edging closer for a view of her next capture.

The butterfly’s wings were folded against one another. It looked ready to take flight, but not quite. The spider watched as the butterfly surveyed the web, the inert bodies tightly wrapped in silken strands. He inched closer to the bodies, soundless and slow. The spider crept further up her web, hidden by the leaves of the branches, poised to take aim. Such a pretty prey, she thought to herself, what a fine trophy he would make on her web, how he would attract so much more for her to feed on.

She crept alongside the butterfly, who seems in a gaze, staring at the unmoving bodies still. The sun suddenly shined down on the web, revealing her black body hidden within the branches. She felt that this was now or never, otherwise she would be spotted. She scurried across the strands, but somewhat resisting the feeling that she should strike. Light struck her many eyes, and she halted, blinded.

The butterfly felt the warmth of the rays and opened his wings. Light penetrated through the thin membrane of his wings, rainbowed colors flowing through, illuminating the silk strands of the web, reds, yellows, oranges. The spider stopped, stunned by all its colors. If she could have, she would have cried out in alarm, so many things happening at once. The butterfly, noticing the quake of the web, fluttered his wings, gathering all the sunlight he could, turning slowly towards what could have been his end.

But the spider remained where she was, staggering through colors and light. The butterfly was so beautiful, she felt, so remarkable that she just stared. Her many eyes met the butterfly’s, a sort of loss overcoming her. What a great capture this would have been, but she felt it might have been a crime to render this creature lifeless. She could not take his life, she knew that. She could not take him for herself, denying his existence to others. He was too full of essence, too full of spirit.

As he folded his wings, the spider felt something die inside, like she was being denied a look into another creature’s soul. She lowered her body to her web, bowing low to the butterfly, easing into a humble obedience. She would give herself to this creature, his beauty too great for even her to withstand. 

she paced outside

She paced outside, the cold rubbing up against her shoulders and her bare legs. Inside she was hot, turmoil raging from within. It was in the middle of the winter, yet she was outside in shorts, barefoot, feeling the melting snow in between her toes. They were red and numb, she had been outside for awhile. It was dark, the clouds covering much of the night sky, hiding the moon’s glow from her sight.

She continued to walk back and forth, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, shivering. She could hear his voice inside her mind, yelling at her, accusing her. Small, salty tears streamed down her face. She wasn’t aware of what she had done to make him so upset. Her feet slid on the sidewalk, causing her to cry out. She hit the wet concrete, her palms skidding on the rough surface, scraping her skin raw. She sat on the sidewalk, hurt, humiliated.

She crossed her legs under herself like a child, folding her arms across her chest, and released a deep, heavy sigh. She could feel the cold seep up through her shorts, her legs covered with goose bumps, turning redder by the moment. She didn’t want to move, wanted to stay there, turn into a statue, let the world pass her by.

A sound startled her out of her temper, turning her head to the side. She glowered in the direction of the house, seeing him stride over to her, shuffling his feet sheepishly, hands in his pockets. She breathed out steam, a dragon raging within. She stayed seated, every part of her body ice, except her face, her heart.

She listened as his soft footsteps approached, crushing the snow beneath the soles of his shoes. She closed her eyes, hot tears raining down her cheeks, evaporating as the winter’s winds blew their torture. Nature growled at him, the trees bending forebodingly towards his figure, howling from coyotes echoing off the hills, the snow melting faster than the weather might normally allow.

Her eyes glowed as anger emanated from them, beams of light meant to shine directly in his face. He held his head down, extending a hand towards her shoulder. She turned back around, facing away from him, too upset to acknowledge his presence. But she couldn’t ignore him, as much as she wanted to, even if he was standing there. She stood, not taking his hand. She caught a glimpse at his face, a small smile peeking out from the corner of his mouth. He laughs?

A fist flew at his chest, a half hearted attempt at declaring her state of war. He let it hit him, made no attempt to withdraw, or even stop her, though his smile was gone. She hit him again, and then a third time, the strength disappearing from her hands, her arms, her body. The cold was taking over her. He finally grasped her wrist, holding it close to his own body, pulling her in like a rope.

He put a hand, warm from keeping it inside a pocket, on her cheek, her tears smearing against it. He bent to kiss her, but she moved her mouth away from his, denying him the sweet sensation of her lips on his. She pushed away from him, annoyed at the lapse in judgment, for allowing him to hold her when she was still so rattled. But he held on, not letting her disappear in the darkness again. She started to bang into him again, with her open palms, slapping his arms, knowing he could barely feel it through his thick coat. She tired quickly, leaning against his chest, feeling it inflate and deflate with every breath he made, a heart beat slightly irregular, affirming its own uncertainty.

He wrapped his long arms around her, picking her up into them, carrying her back to house. She relented, knowing she could not stay angry, even if she wanted to.