He calls for an explanation….all is still. He demands an explanation...the temperature rises, but the air stiffens. Then he tries his hand at empathy instead
and at this she responds. A whisper caresses the air from tormented lips. With patience abandoned he pushes with why, why, why…silence…how was she
hurt, what had that her mother done, why, why...deepened silence. She has no answers, only an oscillating bought of sniffles. A whimper, a cry, a sob but
no answers. All the answers sound childish, she says. He urges her to speak, urges her to purge….profound stillness. Then a solitary utterance, a word, a
sob story. Another story about her; the same damn disruptive, alcoholic her. Pain of loss that had sunk below the depths resurfaces once again. He finally
realizes the extent of her pain, finally comprehending the why, why, why. He's no longer her partner; that he's sure of now. Her heart, he becomes. Her sobs
flow relentlessly without remorse. The pain explodes. She cries out for the motherly guidance she knows he can't provide. Her heart refuses to beat while
her soul drowns in salty tears; his heart functions for them both. Agony pulses through her body, with no exit but through her weaning heart. He tries to
give her answers but she cannot be consoled. His warm words continue to dilute her salted wounds. Slowly her sobs begin to soften, hiccups punch the
air. A wonderfully unsteady heartbeat sweeps across his chest…progress. His warmth seeps into her icy soul and she feels real again. Yeses and nos,
questions and answers, conversation develops, then ceases. Tranquility is reached. Her demons are at bay for now.