4

She was torn by the look in his eyes and the fit of his hand. 

He couldn't know the turmoil inside her head. She felt hopeless and frustrated 

and tears hid behind her eyes. 

She couldn't understand herself or the glass wall she hit when it came to letting herself fall. 

She was guarded and it was tearing her apart. 

Why is it the things meant to keep us safe always hurt the most? She wondered. 

She wanted him to leave and never look back. But she also wanted to hold his face in her hands 

and count the freckles on his nose.

She couldn't bring herself to trust him - 

to let things out of her own control. She couldn't function any other way, 

it was all she knew. And she was sorry for that.

She felt each bone of his hand cling to her own. 

He looked too hopefully at her, careless and trusting. 

If she could warn him she would. But instead she wrote. 

She screamed into the blank pages and rushed the emotion into writing and let it out 

word by maddening word.

None of it mattered because life moved quickly and everything passed with time. 

Hurt and joy alike lingered only momentarily to be extinguished and discarded for the next moment to 

come along and replace.

What was the connection between a well-fit hand and the emotional surge to the brain? 

It was all so very scientific and inexplicable.