Captivated

‘Hush’, you say to her.

You’re too out there. Your hair is too big, your clothes too old-fashioned, your smile too wide, your eyes too sparkly, your enthusiasm too apparent, your voice too hoarse, your stride too confident, your hips too swaying, your mind too active, your heart too free, your kiss too needy, your embrace too fierce, your love making too demanding.

‘You’re too out there. You have to stop.’

'But', she speaks, but you don’t notice.

You don’t see the husk in her voice, the fear in her eyes, the doubts in her stride, the pain of rejection in her smile, the world on her shoulders, the worries in her mind, the loneliness in her embrace, the joy in her kiss, the belonging in her love making.

No, I don’t care what you say. Your reasons aren’t good enough. You think I want to hear how you feel? I don’t. We’re here and that’s that. Don’t over analyse. Just let it be. You scare me. How can I live with fear? No, just stop.

Withdraw.

Change. No, transform.

So she walks away. Shuts herself indoors. Shutters the windows, draws the blinds, gets under the sheets and stays.

And there you come along, now at her doorstep.

Wondering why she isn’t responding. Puzzled at her transformation. How strange she is, like quicksilver. Who’d understand her? Not you. Never you.
You thought her presence was discomfiting, wait for her absence.
You thought her talk was scary, wait for her silence.