Delphine
Delphine shook her head slowly when he inquired after her. “It’s stupid.” She mumbled; cheeks flushed with color as she realized just how stupid her thoughts could be. She knew what they had was new, and she knew she was probably falling too hard, too fast. She was damaged goods; and…
Back to the spiral. Delphine was a dreamer, and she went into things headfirst, without her feet beneath her. For love, she was quick to fall, easy to hurt. She stared at the book she had opened, but could not bring herself to read it, especially not with tears blurring her vision. So, after a moment, she closed the book and wiped her face, hazel eyes searching icy blues.
“I know… I know that we are new,” she began, slowly, carefully. Cautiously. “… and I know I’m a dreamer, and… you and I probably are not on the same page yet, but…” She sniffled, shaking her head. Her anxiety chanted that she was about to destroy everything they had carefully constructed in the season.
At least she could look him in the eye—continually. Though her voice was getting shakier. “… when you tell me what you want out of life, I… I’m scared?” Her voice lilted in a shaky question, and she shoved her hands through her hair, mussing it. It was purely a movement of anxiety. “Because… I want to, I want to give you that, and…” Her dating history was no secret.
Fumbling over her words, as she tried to decipher what she was trying to say, instead she said, “You asked me if… I could love you.” As she grew quiet, anxiety urging her one way, to leave him now, she murmured, “But if I love you, what if… Do I have to let you go? You deserve someone who can do all the things you want, and I don’t know if I…”
She didn’t want to get hurt—and she didn’t want to be alone. She was selfish to the core, there was only so much one could do about this type of selfish desire. And some small part of her that was urging her to tell the man in front of her that she loved him, and believed it could be everything he deserved was urging her to stay.
“I think I love you and I’m scared because everyone I love leaves.” She murmured, finally. A season, both a short period and a long time, depending on if one addressed the logistics of the mind or the heart. Her children had left, that had been her own doing. She had never told her husband she loved him—that certainly said how well that marriage was working out.
“How do I know you won’t leave?” No, she’s not afraid that he’ll walk out on her—well, she is but not terribly.
Back to the spiral. Delphine was a dreamer, and she went into things headfirst, without her feet beneath her. For love, she was quick to fall, easy to hurt. She stared at the book she had opened, but could not bring herself to read it, especially not with tears blurring her vision. So, after a moment, she closed the book and wiped her face, hazel eyes searching icy blues.
“I know… I know that we are new,” she began, slowly, carefully. Cautiously. “… and I know I’m a dreamer, and… you and I probably are not on the same page yet, but…” She sniffled, shaking her head. Her anxiety chanted that she was about to destroy everything they had carefully constructed in the season.
At least she could look him in the eye—continually. Though her voice was getting shakier. “… when you tell me what you want out of life, I… I’m scared?” Her voice lilted in a shaky question, and she shoved her hands through her hair, mussing it. It was purely a movement of anxiety. “Because… I want to, I want to give you that, and…” Her dating history was no secret.
Fumbling over her words, as she tried to decipher what she was trying to say, instead she said, “You asked me if… I could love you.” As she grew quiet, anxiety urging her one way, to leave him now, she murmured, “But if I love you, what if… Do I have to let you go? You deserve someone who can do all the things you want, and I don’t know if I…”
She didn’t want to get hurt—and she didn’t want to be alone. She was selfish to the core, there was only so much one could do about this type of selfish desire. And some small part of her that was urging her to tell the man in front of her that she loved him, and believed it could be everything he deserved was urging her to stay.
“I think I love you and I’m scared because everyone I love leaves.” She murmured, finally. A season, both a short period and a long time, depending on if one addressed the logistics of the mind or the heart. Her children had left, that had been her own doing. She had never told her husband she loved him—that certainly said how well that marriage was working out.
“How do I know you won’t leave?” No, she’s not afraid that he’ll walk out on her—well, she is but not terribly.
Let me make you smile, darling.
