He never says anything when they meet. No words of welcome. No words of joy at seeing her.
She never says anything when they make love. No words of praise. No words of joy at being with him.
He never mentions them. They have no place here. This place, this time is reserved for them alone.
He doesn't want to believe it could end.
She doesn't want to think of the future.
The past has been erased by time and need and desire. The holding back they've always done in respect for the dead and for fear of what the living would say is over. Sins committed, blood shed, guilt erased ... to be replaced by new sins, new blood and new guilt.
They never speak a word after their trysts. It would be real then, not dream-like, not belonging to other people in other times. It's easier to walk away and pretend it never happened.
Without admission. Every time.
They never plan when it will happen. It happens when it happens, coincidence eliminating the guilt of premeditation.
She wants to let it be what it is - beyond compare, beyond feeling, beyond reason. She wants to say 'I love you'.
Every time.
Their words are never sweet and loving. Often cruel, spiteful, unkind ... driven by the desperate need each has to get the upper hand. To make the other understand. To bend wills of steel and mold them as they would.
They fail. Every time.
They swear to themselves it will never happen again.
He is weak. She is there.
They fail. Every time.
fin
