Perfection.
Lying in the arms of her young lover.
Head tipped back—peaceful oblivion.
Pure skin, lids closed over the orbs of her eyes—dreaming of love.
Faultless.
His petting hand strokes her forehead—reassuring her of his love.
Submissive.
Submission.
Safety reassured by love.
Then her eyelids open.
Her head stays still.
She looks at me—into me.
This captive lover looks into my mind.
Straight away I know she wants me.
Even in the arms of her generous, giving lover she wants me.
Even in the haven of his loving arms she wants me.
I smile.
She smiles too.
Our smiles have merged.
I’m filled with a moment of confidence, of sharing, of intimacy.
Optimism floods through me.
How close can we be?
How close can this smile bring us?
Can it break down the barriers of form that separate us?
Can it?
But my optimism wavers.
Suddenly, I'm suspicious of our liaison—of her motives.
I question her sincerity
And I wonder who smiled first?
Who was it that started this?
We widen our eyes and raise the corners of our lips—we open ourselves to one another.
The hope is reinforced.
Yes, we are using this form, this presence, to ask for a way behind it—using it to break through it, using it to destroy it.
My mind is buzzing.
“Will you invite me in? Can I enter your world?”
I try to press my wishes onto her.
But it’s through my weakening smile.
I'm riddled with doubt.
I must know whose eyes widened first.
Did the corners of my lips turn up before hers?
It's all that matters now.
I must have an answer.
If she were first then that would be better, of course.
But only for me.
She would be forever suspicious, and that would destroy us.
If I was first—well, if I was first then her smile was just a reaction.
And if that was so, if I smiled first, then our affair, our love affair is over before it's even begun..
If that was so then she smiled only as her knee might jerk, as her eyes might blink to a sudden burst of sun from behind a heavy cloud, or as she might flinch at a frightening noise with no apparent source.
If I smiled first then it's all over, our intimacy has ended right here, we can no longer love, we will never break down the barriers of our forms, we can never belong to each other in any meaningful way.
Yes, if I smiled first then it's all over.
I have to accept that I was wrong about us, that I deceived myself.
There was truly never any promise: our fervency, our eagerness, the thrill of novelty has passed and left us hollow; and it has not been replaced by the comfort of loving kindliness and care.
Our love affair was like a spark, no, merely a hint of a spark, and the hope for it has faded—drifted away and passed beyond the horizon.
No, I must accept that we have no future together.
And I must finish it now.
