Gently, he stroked her hair, pulling back the pieces that had fallen over her blue eyes. She was ashamed to look him in the face, as if his gaze would break her. She was too delicate for this. Afraid, even. Scared that his love was too powerful, too overwhelming. His touch, though, triggered something inside her that made her feel as if nobody else would ever matter to him as much as she. It could have been hope. It could of been anything. But anything is better than the emptiness to which she had grown accustomed.
Someday, I'm hoping, she...will be me.
Monday, October 27, 2008
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