Of friendship and hope

It has been so long since we spoke that I’m concerned. If anything’s the matter I trust that you will let us know so it can be resolved.

You know how to reach me, us or…

Take Care 🙂

Hands shaking, she hits the ‘send’ button and feels her throat close, enveloping the light

around her.

‘Message sent View or undo’?

She blinks trying to get her eyes to focus. Undo… Dear reader,  if only it were that simple, you and I would have found a cure to cancer . If only she knew what the hell there was to undo.

The smiley looks so fake, smirking at her with its stupid parenthesis smile

What have I done that is so horrible that you won’t talk to me? She wanted to ask. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about gossip mongering caballers who didn’t deserve a second thought. But he would never stop talking to her even if she had done him a world of wrong.

Shhh her husband soothed. She could feel his pain too beating against his strong, loyal heart. He knew what it felt like when someone you trusted and helped screwed you over; when you believed someone to be honest and discovered their nasty secrets and lies, when that someone was so shocked that they had to scramble far away trying  to destroy you in their wake because of shame, fear of being exposed and just plain vice.

But this was different she doubted if he knew how it felt to be left hanging without an answer, the crack in your heart slowly spreading in a terrible pattern that makes no sense, no idea where it would crack next…

She could feel him trying to understand, trying to reach across into her universe and wrench the pain away and put it in his own heart. So he could hurt for them both. So she wouldn’t crumble in his arms. But that can’t happen, can it?

You don’t know what is going on with him sweetheart. Give him time. He cannot bear to hurt you like this, he loves you too much for it; he pulls her tighter against him; her sentinel of faith and courage, a warm hearth when the world turns icy with despair.

Back stabbing friends I’m sure you’ve come across dear reader, haven’t you? Have you ever wonder why they call them back stabbers, when you feel like they’ve stabbed you right in the heart and doubled back to twist the knife just to be sure? Why indeed. But, she doesn’t feel the knife anymore reader, believe it. I look into her eyes, knowing the hilt is lodged right over her heart where the stabber intended it to be. She is numbed and indifferent to a fault. He didn’t stab her, she knows it. He would never go behind my back like a filthy sewer rat she tells me (she cannot vouch that for other people though).  He is one of the most loyal persons she knows. This was just drifting apart…

I reach out and touch her, cold and solid against my fingertips.

Reader, I see her coming undone, I raise my hands and run them against her cheek. Some twisted magic won’t let me wipe the tears off . Can you help me?. Frantic, I claw at her frustrated to see my fingers come away dry.  Why can’t I help her reader? You must know a way. Help me!

Defeated, I’m curled up in a couch next to their bed, watching them sleep. Her sighs rise up in a warm cloud through the chilly air conditioned breeze. The husband is out stone cold, weary from carrying the world on his shoulders all day.

My heart aches for her reader; maybe you can hear it, this omnipresent hum of helplessness. She is asleep… bless her, eyes quivering behind eyelids caught in a dream. I wonder if she can see her friend, like in that picture she has of him and her husband. The men accepted each other, became good friends, understanding their place in the life of the woman whom they loved dearly. Did she see them sitting around a bonfire swapping tales and sharing secrets? Maybe she dreams of that road trip, where the road seemed to mould and shape their trust. Can it be the optimism she held that life would turn around and give her back the days she longed for? Were the dreams taking her to a place where man has beaten all the odds? Is she happy? Has her heart stopped aching?

Making its way to the pillow, the lone tear plays a soul shattering tune in the dead of night. A muffled sob escapes her parched lips. Though buried in the deep subconscious mire a hand sneaks its way around and draws her close giving comfort. She turns and buries herself in her husband’s warmth, and for a second, fleeting glorious second I see her smile. All at once I can hear it, can you reader? can you hear the unmistakable sound of silence… of hope?

Author’s Note: I modified this article to use the ‘More Tag’ for the weekly writing challenge

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