Four Little Words

It’s Tuesday night, and I could probably think of a million other things that I should be doing right now, but I’ve placed my life on pause for a good reason this time – she’s worth it, but what about my dreams? No, no it doesn’t matter; my talent won’t vanish. I wonder does she still see the beauty in said talent, if she still admires me for my craft – I’ll admit, she’s become rather hard to read  in her silence.

“Talk to me,” I said with a smile over our usual sake and pineapple wontons.

I’m not really a fan of either, but she loves this place. I’d go just about any place that she loves; I’d do just about anything for her. Lately, I’m not so sure she’d do the same. Lately, I’m just not so sure of anything. Her silence is deafening and her mystery has gone from intriguing to troubling.

“What do you want to talk about?” she smiles back with her lips and a lingering dullness in her eyes.

Just where did that spark go? It was once there, I know it was. Perhaps my cursed mind is playing tricks on me again. I have a bad habit of conjuring up thoughts that are just a mere illusion to reality. No, no she told me this was real. She told me that I was the most amazing being she’s ever encountered, but the chill in her touch tells me something completely different. At times I want to wave my hand in front of her face and ask if she can actually see me – Déjà vu feelings I’ve chose to ignore.

“Let’s talk about you my love, what’s on your mind?” I ask, gulping down another shot of sake.

The dullness in her eye has gone away and seems to have been replaced with pity. The butterflies in my gut are becoming a bit distressed. This woman brings me so much pause, but the magic that could be, brings me so much delight and hope – that fucking, paralyzing hope.  At times I feel restrained because I don’t want to scare her away, but then again what is love if it’s only given in pieces? Just who am I portraying if I deny my authentic self? No, no I love her and deep down I know she appreciates all of me.

“Nothing, you won’t like it. Let’s just eat our wontons,” she says.

“No, tell me. You know I won’t be able to free myself of worry without your truth now,” I plead.

She looks up at me and she feels so far away, as if there are light years between us. I wish so much to be close to her in this moment, every moment, but what about me? I need her truth more than anything, because the doubt is slowly burying me alive. Her lips begin to move and the breath in my lungs begin to fade as she speaks those four little words.

“I don’t love you…”

Written by Tamica Nicole © 2016 All Rights Reserved
In response to The Daily Post : Elicit 
Photo Credit: Still Life Photography

6 Comments Add yours

  1. Nick says:

    you write as if your mind is in space, and your looking down at yourself.


    1. T. Nicole says:

      Writing outside oneself causes for a better written story. 🙂 Thanks Nick!


  2. Your words are my truth..


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