Dancing on the Edge
He looked at her expectantly.
The words were on the tip of her tongue, but somehow, forcing them out was more than she could bear.
It was a serious question that had been weighing on her mind for quite some time. There had to be some obvious sign that she had missed, something to point to an ulterior motive. The easiest thing to do would be to ask him. But he would find the question so plebian, so female, so troublesome that his answer wouldn't be worth the breath he wasted to compose it. Or he would go into that annoying mode where he treats matters of the human heart as nothing more than another strategy in need of tweaking.
She often wondered if perhaps that was the reason for his convoluted approach to life. Life wasn't a game or a battle, to be won or lost through strategies and plans. It was a paradox; a series of unrelated, yet inextricably linked, events. He didn't seem to understand that. Or perhaps he was too naïve to see it. Either way, it made him somewhat awkward and almost mechanical, as if his brain was not an aggregation of organic matter, but rather a complex machine capable of examining through the eyes of logic alone.
Whatever his answer to her question, he would rationalize it, make it seem planned rather than spontaneous, substantial rather than abstract. As frightening as never knowing was, she couldn't ask. There were too many variables, too many unforeseeable circumstances, too many things that could go wrong.
Troublesome, he would say.
Stupid, she would agree.
In truth she wasn't ready for that leap of faith. They stood at the edge of a precipice; revealing her insecurity would push them over the edge.
If they fell together, the ground would rise to meet them.
If she found herself alone, the distance between them would grow.
She was trapped by her own doubt, unable to swim against the tide. He had always told her she was loud, stubborn, and didn't know when to keep her mouth shut. Perhaps it was time she started learning the value of silence, of holding one's tongue, of preserving the fragile peace of mind that is the ironic result of dancing on the edge of something more.
She let the question fade. She allowed herself to smile at his obvious confusion.
In time, the question would find its way to her consciousness again, to rest precariously on her lips. When that moment came, she promised herself she would be ready.