Three more from the tumblr: inopinion, link in my profile.
She found her sense of self in the doubtful moments. When her fingers ached and her arms shook. Just when she was ready to consider dropping, she'd convince herself once more. Once more up. Once more past who she was a moment ago and into who she could be, would be, if she kept pushing for one more.
Creativity is the bedfellow of not only idle hands, but constrained ones as well. Since the new normal settled into just normal, there was one key piece missing: passion. The not so distant past had rubbed every surface in his apartment with their bodies, some places outside, too. Each flirt a dare usually answered. But this normal has too much pain for libidos. Her's is worn inside and out and his with each of her frustrated or grimacing tears. But tonight he has an idea, a plan and she'll humor him half on hope that this time they find a little bit of the old normal that they can keep.
There are a thousand combinations of faces and body language, intonation and phrases that can convey disappointment. Lips pulled down and to the side, or eyebrows that furrow, little hums of discontent. Sixteen years of hard training smashed the usual mask of humanity off his face leaving a mirage of clues for her to piece together, all while silently screaming, "Am I enough?"