Love Means Walking Away
The wind drifts through her hair, tickling the back of her neck, and she ignores it. Her clothes lift softly away from her body. A relief, in the muggy heat. She wants to fan herself, but she doesn't move at all. Except her eyes. She stares into the room, memorizing the scene before. Not because she wants to, or because she thinks it will be useful or important in the future, but because there is nothing else that she can do. It is imprinting itself upon her mind.
Tears have spun to her eyes, and as she notices them spilling down her cheeks, she doesn't remember when that peculiar burning sensation began. The stars in the night sky outside could not have been shining brighter than the shards of her breaking heart. She should be turning away, but the ivory moonlight is streaming in through the wide open window so perfectly silky smooth and the scene before her is one of perfect, complete love. It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. And even as she begins an everlasting scream inside, her eyes are unblinking.
Two bodies intertwined to form the absolute definitely of love-making. It isn't sex in any form. It is a union of souls. She sees it, and cannot digest it yet. Someday she will realize that her chance is missed, because she never had a chance to begin with. Now, she stands in silence, as the gentle breeze soothes her pain until it is bearable. If only she could forget for one moment to be herself. Then she could just appreciate this scene. Accept it for what it is—pure, true love. The sort that is never broken by anything. Or anyone.
And finally it hits her that she shouldn't be here. Her place has been supplanted. Or never existed at all. In her mind, they are living their lives together, happily ever after like a fairy tale. In reality, she is turning her back on the scene before her. If only she had said something before…
One last glance behind her, and the woman on the bed looks up from the passionate embrace of her lover, meeting the voyeur's eyes through the darkness. In that moment, time stands still, and their hearts beat in tune. Neither of them will ever apologize, because no apology is needed or expected for the way things are. Maybe in another time, another place…
She turns around, tears now dry on her cheeks. She will cry again; of course she will. But for this moment, it is almost enough just to feel the wind's soft embrace under the light of those trillion stars that could never be as forlorn and lonely as she will be every moment for the remainder of her life. It is almost enough to imagine that she is in that bed. It is almost enough to know that in another life, she would be in that woman's arms. It is almost enough that every facet of her heart is bleeding here onto the hardwood floor.
Almost.
But almost doesn't count.
And love means walking away.