Having some editing issues with this one, but I like it too much to not publish. Enjoy anyway!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Clues were a dime a dozen, and he was the poorest man on earth," she would tell herself, when thoughts (wild, unwieldy, ridiculous) would let her down, when dreams lost their bitter battle with reality.
'Maybe if I laugh at just the right time, comfort him in just the right way, maybe if I say just what he wants to hear…" is what she would think to herself when her thoughts would rapturously spin her around and her perseverance stubbornly and naively clung.
He cared. That much was obvious, and she never doubted. But it was never the right way, never except for a few false fleeting moments years ago in a pink dress. And for that, she would never forgive herself, for never figuring out why, for never being enough.
In spite of that, she must admit, she did gain much: a confidante, a protector-her best friend. There was not a single quantifiable thing in the farthest reaches of the universe that she would trade that for. Not ever. She owned a piece of him no one else could.
But. It always hung there; even when she was actively unaware, the stipulation that she had him, would always, but would never.
There is a special crevice deep in her heart, ripped open as a bright eyed teenager and shoddily covered over the years with scraps of dashed hopes and stark realizations coagulating and solidifying. At times, it would harden, and for a while, she could breathe again, could even move on. Sometimes, truths would seep through, spurred by a touch, fierce blue gazes, hot breath reverberating in her ears, a tremble rocking her to her core.
And then, on rare, (and sometimes no-so-rare), occasions, the patchwork would give entirely and everything would spill out in a flurry that left her to clasp at he chest, gasping for air, eyes stinging, desperately trying to stay afloat…
Even now, years removes from the daily "heartstring tug hidden by sarcasm and distance" routine, her heart is still heavy, not a burden but a constant component of her whole. It is a fact she accepts, one she sadly smiles at on lazy Sundays with little to do but contemplate. She could never and will never remove it, and she vows to live with it in strength and pride, never letting it ruin her life.
But then suddenly he's on the phone telling her everyone thinks it's been so long since she was over for dinner, and how they miss her and how he misses those old days.
She's there in superhuman time.
She never had a choice.