A conversation yet to be heard...
"How was your day?" A person not-so-important to Leanne but still kind of important to her, asked. Her enigmatic eyes, barely alive with the dying embers of reason and trust narrowed in suspicion, the cause which she could not remember.
But her mind answered through her mouth. "My days are lying in a corner, stoned, crippled and rusted. Nights stretch too long. I walk a mile and these waves push me back two miles. But I just don't stop breathing and am hoping for light."
The words had a very philosophical effect on her partner, one that she did not intend to bring upon their very-- for want of a better word-- official meeting or date if you will. But she'd wanted to speak to someone, about this... wrinkled chasm inside her, even if it is to her persistent yet very attractive co-worker, whose warm brown eyes now stared at her, scrutinizing her face with the level of precision that only a close friend could bring.
"Why do you feel that way?"His question baffled her. She was tempted to lie, but something about the way he looked at her, those warm brown depths darkening with concern, that made her heart speak the truth, overriding her mind.
"I don't know. Nights go on, every passing second a torture growing excruciatingly painful. Each breath is a dagger to the heart, and I can't comprehend what's real and what's not."
His forehead knotted. She didn't bother deciphering the wheels turning in his head, and focused on her drink, a glass of white wine, very good stuff, obviously very much expensive. Her head was already fuzzy, and her vision dimmed, blurring the image of his tie, for one tense moment. Then it passed, like a soft touch, that of a flower or a breeze, very warm and pleasant to feel.
"Do you need help?" His mind was panicking, she knew. After a heated argument the night before, their relationship was rocky, and on the verge of collapse, as they both knew.
She let out a soft laugh. How naiive. He was clearly not the one meant for her, as her beloved would never panick. He was a coward in heart, wearing a convincing mask of faux bravado. And the concern that she saw, brewing earlier, was a lie, she understood.
She reached for the bottle in front of her, and refilled her glass before answering.
"Not the psychological kind, no. What I need," her eyes widened to better capture his attention, "is a lover. A lover who understands me better than myself. One that would hold me when I fall, reach out when I feel that I'm slipping, and would hug me in the days of my utmost distress and love me even when none would." A pregnant silence hung in the air conditioned room of their meeting.
"Who is not me." It wasn't a question, but she felt like answering anyway so she did.
"Who is not you." She nodded for emphasis.
His eyes darkened, to the point that she thought it was black, though with anger or sadness, she did not know nor did she care. It was over for them, she knew, and he would have to learn to accept it sooner than later.
"Then..." his voice was faint, but she could hear it echoing, "we have no further to discuss."
It was his way of saying, "Goodbye, and may Fortune smile upon you, wherever you are."
She nodded, the enigma ever present glowing in her eyes, a new light, that of freedom and trust. The cold nights were finally over. And dawn was approaching.
They shook hands, and then she was gone, a wisp of black, for she was wearing all-black for their meeting, leaving not a trace, not even of her perfume behind.
As each step she took, distanced her from hell, a victor's smile split her face in two, and for her moment she was glowing with warmth and happiness, the most beautiful combination.
Yes... The nights were finally over.
She lifted her face to the warm summer breeze to touch.
And dawn... was approaching. Finally...