Loneliness drove her to him,
but she left feeling more bereft
than she had before...
Relieved that the only light
was that of the softly probing moon,
she blinked back tears
when they threatened to spill.
Even as he held her close,
his touch left her cold. She knew
his heart wasn't engaged.
Their touches were devoid of
"I love you, miss you,
you're beautiful, I can't
live without you..."~
goodbyes short and hellos
spoken as if they didn't matter.
There was no passion, no
fluttering of hearts, no
electric zing at the
merest hint of his touch.
She couldn't escape fast enough,
needed to be alone, to drive
in the silent darkness and think,
but as she ran out the door,
he stopped her to ask
her opinion on the strawberries
he was preparing for the party
she would never be invited to.
"Do you think they're dry enough?"
He was clueless to her inner turmoil
as he stood in the sliver of light
by his open refrigerator door,
saran-wrapped bowl balanced
precariously on one hand.
"I've got to go," she said
as she turned her head away,
avoiding his eyes.
"Good luck with your strawberries."
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