Words fail me; therefore, I am silent.
My interior walls are strong; self-made; impenetrable.
The walls work both ways - if nothing can get in, then nothing can get out. Therefore, I am silent.
But you get in, every day, spectacularly. You make the chinks in my armor, unbidden, and unaware that you do it.
I hold my door open in dismissal of both of you, as a team. The wash of two scents, one male, one distinctly female, seeps through my walls, through the chinks you have made. I want to stop you and tell you how good your incense is in my body. The scents come in, the sights, the sound of your voice, speaking, when I myself am silent.
The chinks, however, only work one way, in.
When you defend your partner, from whatever nonsense he is spouting this day, I want to tell you how much I admire you, your courage, your faith and loyalty. Your unstated love.
But words fail me, and I am silent.
When you step from an elevator, so petite, more beautiful than the others, I want to climb my walls and tell you.
They are insurmountable, and I am silent.
If your voice is on the other end of my phone, I want to tell you I am glad to hear from you, desperately grateful that your time is mine, even though it is only from agent to superior.
I am silent.
And when I am home, alone, lonely, I want to call you, reach out through my self-imposed barriers, through the chinks you have unknowingly caused, and just ask you for your company, I am silent.
But in the empty darkness of my room, I am shameless, and vocal. When my hands reach for myself, when I am so hot for you that a sheen of sweat covers my entire naked body and I have to throw the covers off in frustration that I am alone, then, in stark blackness, I can reach for you, I can imagine you are the one who is here, the one who touches, who pumps the very center of my being, both physical and emotional. Then I can call out your name, scream it if I want to. My walls crumble briefly, unknown to you, and it is your face I see as I give myself relief, your body I want to receive my orgasm.
In the florescent real-life, words fail me.
And I am silent.
End Part 1
Part 2