deeplysuperficial

He reaches out to touch you.
You flinch.
Half expecting the same warmth, the same comfort, the same look of concern and understanding.
You reject it.
Somehow you don't believe it anymore.
You begin to not believe, that you actually believed in magic.
Wait. I mean, Love.
You're gripping the hem of your shirt, and looking at your shoes.
Suddenly you seek refuge in fabric. We always do.
Pillowcases, handkerchiefs and our t-shirt sleeves serve us silently while we unleash the waterworks.
At least they're reliable.
You are bitter, but you will not give in.
You will not give in.
But you are caving in.
Your heart is dismantling against its' will.
Your trachea is closing.
You gasp for air.
You begin to chortle in between tears.
You begin to lose your footing.
Your knees have given way.
The floor is cold.
He still towers over you.



You give up.
But you have not given in.