she told me, son, fear is the heart of love

"true love means never having to say you're sorry."
or so the saying goes.

if heaven and hell decide
that they both are satisfied
illuminate the "no"s on their vacancy signs
if there's no one beside you
when your soul embarks
then i'll follow you into the dark
-death cab

"you're beautiful" is all he could muster. fatigued and frustrated, he forced himself to believe that it culminated everything that they couldn't articulate. it was as if they had said everything through the unspoken, through the nuances in expression that only they could understand and the swift, imperceptible brushes of arms and hands. her smile communicated more than she could say, even when asked point blank. she knew that she could speak, if she could simply sit down and think it through, that she could speak eloquently. but every time she tried, it was choked back by blatant, inconvenient fear. surely, they could pull it together enough to simply say what they meant, but it couldn't be done. it was too difficult, too painful to explore it, so they remained reserved. she had to avoid verbalizing what she really meant, because it contradicted who she was and what she wanted to be. and he never wanted that for her. so they chose to bury the words, even to pretend that they couldn't find them. but in the midst of collapse, of compromise, it was clear. so clear, as if they were screaming the words in each others' faces but in a language only they understood.

"i think you're beautiful." it was a language anybody could understand, on any level they wanted. within it, everything unsaid dissipated. she knew, absolutely, that it encompassed everything they meant, everything she had hoped to say but could only say in silences, in awkward pauses, in all the nonsensical, ambiguous facial expressions she conjured. her response: a sincere, authoritative kiss and a coy smile. "maybe." the air around them was potent with "maybe." it was as precise as it could be.

"maybe."