of new

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it was a very heavy shake of the head, weighed down with either thoughts or exhaustion, she couldn't tell, but the force of it motivated the muted movement--his head swung as would a pendulum from side to side, lolling in an apparently relaxed fashion, although the stance of his hands communicated tension wrapped in an apology, or a need to escape.
the way he shook his head was too close to nonchalance that she fled first, unable to face so vulnerably the possibility that her affection, those years of caring so much, had been reduced, such that it did not even merit a proper vocal reply; only a tired forfeit; only his exasperation.
she turned away, hands clenched in her pockets and a thousand incoherent words lodged in the swell of her throat. she turned away with a not yet formed hope of being able to forget and an irreducible need to turn around, run to him and fit her body into his with what might resemble one of their old embraces.
but as far as she knew, for she had not looked back for fear of losing any measure of control, of giving yet another part of herself to him that would be rendered useless and wasted, he had already begun quite some time ago to release her, to forget, allowing even the earliest, sweetest memories to fog and become obsolete.
and as this thought passed behind her eyes, she blinked and pushed deeper into the warmth of her coat pockets. an acidic taste seemed to seep into her mouth, and the blood hurrying in and out of her heart seemed to thin as the organ contracted, delivering a rather virulent variant of an ache.
cold air breeded on the other side of the door. somewhere a swallow shook the dew from a branch and the morning light had not yet pervaded the mist.
the door closed with an indifferent click.
she let herself close her eyes, here with her fingers against the chilled metal handle.
inside, he still stood, unmoving and breathing slow.






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