Silhouettes - One

The spoken whisper, the harsh cry. The whipping winds, the downpour of rain. Loud voices, soft hands. Caressing touches, weak attempts. The storybook love, the horror movie ending.
It all started with a glance.
The glance that spoke, that touched. The glance that made everything bad seem okay.
Empty wine glasses, litter on the floor. Clothes descarded, phones ringing. The act of lying, the act of love.
Hands were being held, arms were being draped. Introductions were made, pleasant nods were given. They knew each other, they didn't know.
A passionate rombus, a love triangle turned to four. What did they become? What did they do wrong?
Friends apart, lovers together. Indifferent love, indifferent hope.
There was no sunshine, there was no rain. They were bathed under the clouds, their clothes soaking up the fog.
Their thoughts swirled, tossed between their bodies; pressed so closely.
Passion was in the air, passion was what ripped apart their clothes.
Found in the backseat, intwined together.
Faces of shock, faces of being caught.
Screams of disgust, screams of apologies.

The lies between them hung in the air, the whispered almost-but not really-conversations were short, forgotten the next moment. Their sleepless nights were uncomfortable, to say the least. Lying awake, eyes shut firmly, as though to trick the other into thinking they were asleep. They never slept (together).
Midnight booty calls were frequent, but ignored by the other. They left smack dab in the middle of the silent turkey dinner to go across town. [The turkey was long forgotten and eventually thrown out].
They loved each other, oh yes they did. But they loved their lovers more. Death til us part; literally. Neither wanted to leave, neither wanted to stay. An unspoken agreement was made.
'Let's stay and (not) pretend we're happy.'
Hurrah, cheers. Pour the wine, pop the corkers.
New Years Eve, came and went. Alone together, but ultimately alone. Memory lane playing like a filmstrip in their close-minded minds.
The wedding, the drinks. The guests, the fights. The dancing, the dj. The honeymoon, the bed.
Neither ever forget (or wanted too) of the good times. The times before the affairs, before the lies, before the silent pillow talk.

The wire was wrapped around her throat, she lay limp, unmoving. He stared at her; he couldn't help her. [Did he even want to?]
The lies were too much, too large. She couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle him.
[Who could?]

im supposed to love you.
Do what you do best.
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<3