Monday, June 14, 2010
White Blank Page
There was nothing that he could do to rectify the situation, all was lost, and there was no sense in trying to salvage what little hope may be left. She was too weak to confront him, she always had been, and he was too cold to let his heart and anger warm over. There was never a time with her that he had ever thought to be anywhere else, but to his amazement the same wasn’t true for her. She had grown tired over the same battles, the same arguments, the same outcome, but what was there for her to really complain about? He loved her with all his heart, he made sure that she knew this, that she knew how beautiful he thought she was, how kind, and sweet, but never could she give him the same reassurance. After three years he may have received a single compliment in each of them.
The pain had become something standard to him, in his solitude he found an odd sense of stability in being ignored and denied the love he sought for. He had fostered an environment of self-depreciation, which was merely perpetuated by her refusal to change. Her selfishness would sink her, and though he may have warned her against this, there was nothing she would ever do to change this simple fact.
It’s a simple remedy, at least to show that there has been some effort put forth, at least to show that there was some care taken to acknowledge the other’s wishes, but whether it was too difficult to keep up, or she really didn’t care too much, any effort was as temporary as the fleeting wind. It was nothing for him to lay next to her and give her everything, to tell her everything, he wanted her heart and affection, all she wanted was his attention.