With Hands Tied

She paced back and forth in her mind. Frustrated. Frustrated beyond belief. She had finally done what he wanted, she had opened up inside. But it had happened at the very moment he had broken up with her. The few hours (yes, she thought it was hours) where he had read her facial expressions and she couldnt say "nothing" anymore when he asked her "what are you thinking?" or "what's wrong?"

He had read her facial expressions correctly when he read them to say "dont say it...dont say it..." and yet he had, which had made whatever changes that had happened inside of her too late. And perhaps he had never wanted to see them anyways.

The bitter bloody irony of it all that her heart should ache now. Now that it was too late. And even now, she was reluctant to call it love, even though it smelled, tasted and felt exactly like it.

"Must I call it love?" She thought. And then, in the next instant, the denial crumbled. How stupid. Too little too late. She wanted to disassemble the room with a kick of her foot and swear loudly.

Was that a pity snuggle he gave me last night?

She wonders what he means by love...

"I love you as a friend Kate, but as more." and her mind's response to this is "You love me, but just not enough to be your girlfriend." Ouch.

His view of sex was different than hers. She knew this. And this added to her frustration. She paced.

She wanted to text him, to tell him how she felt. But, anxiety clenched her heart, she didnt want to send too many, or send something stupid, or assume he still wanted to talk to her when he really didnt anymore.

When she had sat down to watch The Fellowship with him and he had left to use the restroom, that was the first time she had distinctly felt the ache. Palpable, almost physical, right in the middle of her chest, which could mean that it had only come from one place. Her heart.

And now, she paced, wanting badly to text him, but bewildered as to where to go and what to do with her feelings. Should she tell him? Should she fold her hands and remain in her usual silence letting what was clearly his decision rest? Could she herself rest without telling him? Should she tell him and then let it all fade? Should she just totally block him out? Should she tell him now while the break-up was still fresh? Would it even matter? Does it even matter?

Frustrated, hands tied behind her back, she continues to pace.