somethings are deeper than marrow



They were laying on the sand, wrapped in each other, the fibres of their coverings stuck like velcro. She had her face next to his, his slightly behind, she could feel the tickle of his soft facial hair brushing against her skin. His arms were wrapped around her from behind. She was laying half propped up on his chest and when she laughed he could feel the way her body moved and it was like her curves would curl themselves into the side of his flank.

She'd been so sad, he wanted to see her smile. Wanted to be near her. He missed her. So he dragged her down the beach one cold august night and sat her by a small but warm fire. He talked, she listened. He talked about Jodie for the first time in almost a year. And though he never said it, he knew that she knew Jodie wasn't the reason he couldn't move on. But they didn't make their deepest confessions. They didn't look into each others eyes with anything but pity and understanding. For he knew that she knew the pain that coursed through his soul, the pain that broke him a little more each day.

Instead they would sit, together, their bodies melting into each other, each denying and repressing the truth in their bones. They would laugh and tease, the way they had always done, for that was the way things were. There were moments , moments of tension, moments when the fight would subside just enough to leave a crack in the wall they painstakingly built.

And he hoped she hadn't heard when he whispered 'i love you' so softly into the night, and she pushed back into him just a little and whispered back 'I know'. He felt a stirring in his heart, from that deep dark cavern in which he had thrown her all those years ago in his effort to stiffle her screams, to forget what she made him. But that night on the beach, they sank a little deeper into each other. And what was unsaid became written upon their bones.



2004-01-16 2:49 p.m.