. ~ .

His touch. His hands slowly sliding along her body. Caressing. Teasing and soothing at the same time. Followed by his mouth. His kisses. Making her feel beautiful and wanted. And loved. Her body is aching for more, begging for more. Arching into him and into his touch. And he gives her more. He moves up, leaving a trail of sensations awoken by his hot breath hitting her skin. And then she feels him leaning over her. She breathes his breath as his lips linger millimetres from hers. She longs for his kiss, but none is coming. So she opens her eyes. And her gaze pierces the darkness.

She makes a sound like a wounded animal and turns to her side. She pulls her knees to her chest and bites her lower lip in order to stop herself from howling in pain. The bitter taste of disappointment. The salty taste of her own tears.

She hugs a pillow tightly and hides her face into it, breathing in his scent. It was never there. Yet she can smell it. Almost every night she lies in the darkness of her bedroom, not being able to sleep. Not before she gets some warmth she needs so much. But there is no one who could provide any, so she has to create it in her mind, when she is floating between the reality and her dream. Phantom closeness. It brings only so little comfort and so much real pain.

Every night his imaginary touch feels different. Sometimes impatient and demanding. Almost rough. Sometimes so gently and loving. Her mind is toying with the idea. And she tries not to think that this fantasy is different every time because she hasn't got the slightest idea how his touch really feels like. She doesn't want to admit it. She can't, as it will cause her heart to shatter in endless amount of pieces. Because she wasn't given a chance to find out. And because she won't be given one.

There is this sad place where unfulfilled dreams are going. They are hiding there in order not to die completely. They are craving to turn into memories. But their wish isn't granted. They aren't allowed to remain dreams, either. So they turn into small, thorny pains. They bury themselves deep down, under the thick layer of daily routine. They get wrapped in a 'I'm fine' statement, disguise with a beautiful, yet forced smile. No one is supposed to see them. No one would ever guess they are there. She knows so well how to compose the facial features for the sadness to be unnoticed by anybody. And she knows how to make just anybody believe she is bathed in warm and light. That beautiful glow, that aura... Nobody would ever guess it is coming just from underneath her skin, as the sparkle in her heart has gone out a long time ago.

The unhappy love. The unreciprocated love. Not returned in any kind. Like unanswered prayer. Making her feel unworthy and pathetic. Making her ready to disown herself. Her raven hair and hazel eyes. Her sense of humour and wit. Her knowledge and position. Just anything. Anything to be her. At least for one night. To be able to find out how being cuddled in his arms feels like, how his kiss tastes like, how his whisper sounds. To find out and then die a little more, but at least with the knowledge of what is she really missing.

Is there a worse feeling in the world? The feeling of being nobody's. It is like a mockery of love. Showed in a distorting mirror. Without any hope, without any thrill. Without receiving someone else's heart as it should be, but with losing her own instead.

So many times she has considered running away from this feeling. From him. From witnessing him being with her. Maybe if she wasn't forced to see him everyday it would be easier to forget and to move on. But this feeling is like her shadow. It is always with her, no matter how far away from him she is.

And then... there is this silly, little hope. Balancing on the edge of possibility. So he dated her... But they could always break up. So he is engaged. But they can always split up. So he will marry her. But they can always divorce... In a month, in a year, or in a decade. Maybe her heart will last out.

Or maybe... Maybe they won't even have to part. The thought is almost unbearable, but it is there. Against everything she believes in and acts on. To agree on being the second one. Playing the game that couldn't be won. For anybody. Would she accept so very little? She knows that answering this question with a 'no' is only a way to keep her from thinking any less of herself. A big chunk of lie and sin, with a sprinkle of bitter-sweet love. It would be still more than nothing.

She can only praise her heart for falling in love with the most honorable and honest man she could ever imagine. But then... there is a sinner in every saint. And with that thought her mind is already toying with the possible scenario. Hard case, them working till late night. His quiet, dim office. And his touch...

At the end of the day she is always reduced to the miserable creature, curled up into a ball in order to keep herself warm in a cold and empty bed. Just like right now. She slowly manages to silence those thoughts, like she is killing singing birds, one by one. And when they are all finally gone, the only sound in her head is a quiet prayer. To make it stop. To make the feeling fade away. If she could, she would rip her own chest open and tear those pieces of her being that are aching the most. Even at the cost of never being able to feel anything again.

But then morning comes. And she faces him again, a smile plastered to her lips. A smile that is keeping her from crying. There is no other way. There is no mercy. There is no fulfilment. There is no us.

. ~ .