Far
Into the depths
Night
Her mind
Restless
Unsatiable hunger
For emotional closure.
When in doubt, doubt.
Thinking is hazardous to perfection.
Source: me.
Any chances
No matter how miniscule
A mathematical factor
Accounting
An alternate outcome.
Because behind each mascot
Is just another man.
Perfection
What is it?
Perhaps it is the metaphysical dream.
Behind a handsome face
Ugly revelations
A crystal mask
Perhaps answering the reason
Why she couldn't
Touch it.
Put to the test, it shatters.
His eyes
Blue as the sky
Beautiful
However
Try as she would
Not a drop
Nor a tear
Of sincerity.
His smile
Bright as dawn
The light to her dark world
Closer scrutiny
Revealing
Simply a reflection
Passive reciprocation
As if she smiled at a mirror
And back at herself.
And if he did
It was not for her.
Smiles tell a whole other story with a simple fluctuation.
Realize.
The moon shines.
But it does not glow.
Who is the moon?
Who is the sun?
When they hold hands
It was always her
As white moves
First in chess
She moves first
And strangely enough
She could not feel
Emotions
It was there
Yet it lacked
Warmth.
He never held her hand.
It was her holding his.
Holding on
Holding the line
Carry
This relationship
As if it were a sack
Of unreciprocated
Affections.
A contrast
The rotten cynic
Dead were his eyes
Even more
His attitude
One may as well
Converse with a dog.
But he listens.
He understands.
Accepts.
Not too often
They hold hands
But when they do
She could feel
Sense
Know
Trust
Cold was his personality
Yet warm was his touch.
They held each other
In close
Regards
Respect
An intimate relationship
Carefully cultivated
And like a flower
Bloomed.
They held each other.
He was there
When she needed a shoulder
To cry on
An arm to cling on in fear
A hand
To pull her up when she falls
And smile
A faint glow
Nevertheless
To brighten up her day.
And dawn came
She slept little
Time dragged on
In contemplation
Peace and quiet
Over hot tea
And a cold rainy morning.
If he was here
It was a pleasant environment
A habitat for a loner
If before she hated silence
Now she found it soothing.
Questions answered
In solitude
Result in clear
Answers
Yet one
That she was reluctant
To know.
Indeed
Knowing more
Means you have
More shit to deal with.
Ironically
A question answered
Only makes you
Ask more questions.
A socratic principle
Unraveling plots
And stories
Time was essence
To presence
And to understand
Patience.
A knock on the door
Finally interrupting
Her hours
On the train of thought.
Opening the door
Revealed
A strangely dressed cynic.
Strange was it to see him
In a formal attire
Of black slacks and shoes
And a crisp white dress shirt.
"Hi there."
"Well don't just stand there. Get in here."
"So, what are you planning to make me wear?"
"Come now. You'll see."
Up a flight of stairs
Into a private room
One that in his rare visits
Failed to notice before.
It was a dressing room
And a fine one too.
"Hmm... let's see. Huh. Maybe this... nah, too flashy..."
"I'll trust you on this one."
"Have some faith Hikio. I know the style."
Rummaging through
Rows of plastic wraps
Finally
She picked a suit.
Women are quite meticulous
When it comes to fashion.
"Huh. Gray. Nice."
"That's it? Geez Hachiman. You have no tastes."
"A suit is a suit."
"Oh, damn you. This is Burberry."
"If it fits, it works."
"Mmhm. It's my father's."
"Oh. I'll have to thank him first chance I get. Is this alright for him?"
"He wouldn't mind. No longer his size."
"Fair enough."
Two of them
In the living room
It was silent
Yet a quiet understanding
She knew
Or at least as he said
Seventy percent of communication
Is from non-verbal interaction.
By interaction
She stood in front of him
He was only an inch or two taller
Yet they stood as equals
Little prejudice
No preconceptions.
Like a painter
Each movement
Pull
Brush
Touch
As she dressed him into a suit
Painting a picture
Of a handsome man
Yes.
Each button
An inch closer
And for the final stroke
Finishing touch
A fine black tie.
Character is not seen
But it is revealed.