the missunderstanding

there had been a missunderstanding. rules were set, words were said, letters exchanged, IM’s and SMS-es flew back and forth unashamed and clear as tears. yet, there had been a missunderstanding. it was not known when it occurred, during the stolen minutes of the workday, while she sat seemly preoccupied with the unchanging computer screen, or at night, in-between frenetic typing and ice water drinking. one thing was for sure, it happened while their bodies were suppossed to be almost one, and their minds melted into strong fiery liquid that could burn up souls. instead, words were whispered, and the missunderstanding took definite form.

it stuck between their undulating bodies and eloquent tongues, it scared her off sleep and into his open arms again and again, only to find no room there, for the missunderstanding had taken up all the space. it drove her to bury her nose once again in red hot flaming books full of half naked, nubile maidens swooning in the arms of strong hipped and square jawed males. it made her buy very dry graphic movies with almost no dialogue but excellent visual and audio knowledge of what things were suppossed to look like. she crashed her computer downloading songs from doubtful resources who spoke about predicaments like the one she was in, yet the missunderstanding was clearer than ever.

he went on as usual, his lines smoother than ever, his gifts a continuous stream of affection, his voice the sweet poison of her brain, his arms an open shelter 24/7. he could not see why she would not take refuge in them. somehow the missunderstanding made her words appear differently, made her look cold and distant, or moody and introvert. yet, she tried to say whatever she could, the little Cassandra predicting doom, the wet dog foretelling disaster. he listened. words were so cute coming out of her  mouth, whenever it was not occupied with giving him pleasure.

of course it was not his fault. he was fulfilled, his dream was satisfyingly purring, why should he think deeper? and if he did, what would be the benefit? the missunderstanding would be cleared, and so would the wonderful stream of heavenly words that came from it. possibly the pain of clear vision might spew forth another stream of heavenly words, albeit laddled with sorrow instead of sweet longing like they were now. then, he’d rightfully move on to somebody with less clear vision and the missunderstanding would lose its present definite form and again turn into a semblance of deep feeling and artful self-deceit. and she’d be left with just a few smoothly spoken lines and short emails that said nothing at all.

yes, there had been a missunderstanding. another knot in the fabric of life, swiftly looped off to one side, so that the other one appeared unlined and uninterrupted and a perfect work of art, like life usually did. and she, unlike poor unloved Cassandra, would shut her mouth and enjoy while she could what she was handed. perhaps, if she kept her eyes closed when kissing (like he did) the missunderstanding might lose its definite form and  deceive her once again into vanishing her doubts in thin air.

“i said i love you” he whispered and covered her lips with his own. she saw him close his eyes, then closed hers too. mmm, better already.

4 thoughts on “the missunderstanding

  1. “his voice the sweet poison of her brain, his arms an open shelter 24/7” – i love it how you put words and descriptions together. you’ve come back inspired. i guess that trip wasn’t bad after all:))

    p.s. glad to see u back!

  2. thanks belle. i do it for the compliments.😉
    i am dissappointed though. did not bring a husband back only turkish coffee.

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