For some love is simple. A certain person appears in your life and that's it. No more searching. For most it is messy; a complicated weighing of pros and cons - fights, blissful moments, and everything between, forcing you to decide what you can liv...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
There is no perfect. There will always be struggle. You just need to choose who you want to struggle with.
- Before We Go
The fresh bottle of wine has been opened, but the conversation, the very thing that had brought you to Tom's door – that you had insisted upon, refuses to flow as easily as the liquid poured from the bottle. You cradle the wine glass, trying to find the safest path towards your goal, doing your best to carefully navigate the jagged edges of this fresh gulph that has developed between you and the man that had weathered everything else. Tom had fought against all of it: the rules that kept him at a distance, all the hoops to jump through to win even the smallest bit of ground. You'd found the breaking point, all in the name of shutting him up and shutting down the argument that had been brewing.
Was it worth it? That act of cruelty just to stop the flow of words from his mouth? The elation that had illuminated him from within before realization struck – before he'd shut down and quietly stormed out.
I fucked up, Izzy. I really fucked up.
Tom's deep exhale yanks you out of your internal spiral. A question tips out of you before you have time to consider the wisdom of asking it. "What're you thinking?"
It was a foolish question. The sharp edges of anger, the deep sadness that he's battling are clearly written on his features. The few sips of wine, in addition to however much he consumed on his own before your arrival, have done nothing to dampen the rawness of the wounds you'd delivered a few hours before. He clears his throat, swallowing air with his focus locked on a piece of lint clinging to the knee of his trousers, "Nothing good."
Have you done it? Now, after years of wishing distance between the pair of you, does he finally see the wisdom in allowing what had existed between the pair of you in the past to remain in the past?
He exhales and sets his glass down before plucking at the piece of lint, keeping his gaze averted. "That we always end up here." The flash of anger ignites within him again, deepening the frown lines on his face. "Maybe..." He stops himself, giving his head a shake but firmly keeping his eyes from sliding down the sofa to land on you. Is that helping him battle against whatever he's trying to say, or not say?
"I –"
Maybe it's the tone in your voice when you try again to apologize only to be cut off. Maybe it's the bit of movement that makes him blurt out the words that make your stomach drop. Whatever it is, the sentiment finds purchase and falls from his lips: "Maybe I was expecting too much."
The throbbing headache you've been nursing, made worse from the crying, gains in strength even as your body tries to swap its focus to the feeling of free falling though you're sitting still. Has it happened, finally? Have the pair of you swapped stances? Have you, in one stroke, changed his mind regarding the pursuit of what once was?
