Monday, July 18, 2005
The Price of Freedom
And then she said it, as he, in his hypoxic state, let his mind run away.
"Be careful"
She wasn't warning him about another woman.
She was warning him about... himself.
"Don't hurt her."
*****
The words came rushing back.
A long time ago, a warm evening, mottled shadows on the ground rippling with the wind, weak orange streetlamps casting soft shadows across the pathway.
"... are you sure you know what you're doing... I've hurt people."
He didn't understand, then. He knew what the words meant, and he was prepared to be hurt.
But he didn't know what was running through her mind. And her heart.
*****
Holding her close for the last time, holding her tightly with the intimacy they had shared the last two years, never wanting to let her go - for the last time, because tomorrow, he would be away from her... and liberated.
Holding her close, feeling her cry into his shirt. Feeling her hurt.
*****
And another, walking, lost through a busy street, telling him that she wasn't crying... standing at the top of a stairwell... hearing the hurt in her voice.
Wanting to tell her how sorry he was, but staying silent instead. Being the bastard that he could be, sometimes. Hearing her hurt, and feeling his heart break just a little... but not letting it break too much. Not letting things spiral
out of
control.
*****
Perhaps that's why he hasn't reached out and brushed the hair off her brow, and drawn her close - although every fibre in his being wants to. Although he remembers what is to be male, and what it is to be self-serving and self-seeking. What it is to want to be... happy.
Perhaps he holds back...
... because he doesn't want to hurt her.
*****
I know what she meant, now.
"Be careful"
She wasn't warning him about another woman.
She was warning him about... himself.
"Don't hurt her."
*****
The words came rushing back.
A long time ago, a warm evening, mottled shadows on the ground rippling with the wind, weak orange streetlamps casting soft shadows across the pathway.
"... are you sure you know what you're doing... I've hurt people."
He didn't understand, then. He knew what the words meant, and he was prepared to be hurt.
But he didn't know what was running through her mind. And her heart.
*****
Holding her close for the last time, holding her tightly with the intimacy they had shared the last two years, never wanting to let her go - for the last time, because tomorrow, he would be away from her... and liberated.
Holding her close, feeling her cry into his shirt. Feeling her hurt.
*****
And another, walking, lost through a busy street, telling him that she wasn't crying... standing at the top of a stairwell... hearing the hurt in her voice.
Wanting to tell her how sorry he was, but staying silent instead. Being the bastard that he could be, sometimes. Hearing her hurt, and feeling his heart break just a little... but not letting it break too much. Not letting things spiral
out of
control.
*****
Perhaps that's why he hasn't reached out and brushed the hair off her brow, and drawn her close - although every fibre in his being wants to. Although he remembers what is to be male, and what it is to be self-serving and self-seeking. What it is to want to be... happy.
Perhaps he holds back...
... because he doesn't want to hurt her.
*****
I know what she meant, now.
