We never said much. Not much about the delicate matters outside of or not concerning work but at the same time we did not ignore them entirely, they hung about us always, like mosquito netting except not useful or lavender gauze around a little girl's bed except not pretty. And it was falling down on me, only to be stopped in it's descent by her.
But he was the next best thing, slicing it just right so that it fell around me, not on me.
She was the only source of true joy in the entire world at times. When she was gone my world was dark and when she returned it was bright. So bright.
But he was the next best thing, flickering every now and then when I needed it most with a light that made me thankful for all four of my eyes. It was warm.
Her practiced stirs and scoops made the best ambrosia, the only taste refined enough to satisfy my silly little cravings.
But his were the next best thing, the will to shut me up and keep me quiet condensed into a single mug.Yet I swear there was love mixed in with the sugar.
When I was weak and removed the second pair of eyes in order to keep them dry, she held my hand and smiled in a way that no one else could, in a way that let me understand there was no sin in weakness.
But he was the next best thing, with those rough large hands that made me feel so small and averted eyes that let me understand that he didn't hate me for taking away my own vision. Thinking back, I do think I've heard it called blind before. But somehow I don't think the saying means what it does to everyone else what it means to me. They mean blind as indiscriminant while I, I, simply could not see. And there are no exceptions to a lack of sight.
The blind cannot see the blind.
It was in those moments of blindness that I saw him the clearest though and the only time that I did not need glasses to refract the sincere, earnest light that we were both afraid to label. It was so warm. And I let it escape, let the heat seep from the worn hands as I gloved them with opaque white fingers. It was then that I gained sight and lost speech.
Words.
Tongue.
I became dumb.
And I wished I had been able to see instead of speak, would have exchanged clear vision for the thousands of useless words in a heartbeat. After all, we never said much.
I wish he knew. I wish I could have found the words to tell him as blind love ceased its flow in rough hands and he smiled. Smiled.
He was content to be the next best thing.
And I never told him that sometimes, sometimes, she was the next best thing.
Bleh. This didn't turn out how I intended but my typing demons refused to let me not post it so here tis, or rather, here twas. I hope you enjoyed it and that I shall hear from you sometime in another story:3 Smile!
-S