It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you. I’ve heard things about you, things that make me worry. I ask you if these things are true.
Pain shoots across your face for a fleeting moment. And without any further prompting, you begin to paint a story of joy, light and colour. You tell me of slow dances in the dark and of stolen glances across a room. You speak of long talks and deep confessions that lead to heart break. The story of heart break transforms into a tale of self harm and of hidden truths.
As you speak, I watch your face. At first there is a tenderness and passion that has been long vacant within you. Though, as your story continues to unfold, so too does your face. Your face acquires the look of one that has been tortured; there is agony, distress and anguish.
Your story makes me cry. And with nothing more to say, we hold each other through the night, trying to hide from the things we cannot fight. Until the early morning light reminds us that we cannot hide forever.