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We sit facing each other across our campfire, bathed in the soft warm glow of the dying embers; the only sound to be heard is the hissing of the fire and the snapping of twigs as flames lick through them, consuming them as noisily as a dog breaking bones. The silence cloaks us, shelters us from the harsh sting of truthful words, icy and bitter like lashing rain on a wild, windy day.
Again and again, I study her from across the fire - her face is cast into relief and her eyes grown huge by the flickering shadows. Eyes huge with hurt, her face pinched with pain and her body stiff as she tries, unsuccessfully, not to let me see how much she is hurting. Our eyes meet and my breath catches at the hope I see there, burning low but so ready to be fanned to brightness. She's waiting; hoping for me to apologise. But I can't. How can I?
I've hurt her again. Why am I always doing that? I hurt the one person in the world who is so precious to me, and not content with sticking in the knife, I have to twist and turn the blade, prolong the agony and leave the wound open and festering. Just two words would be a cure to her - "I'm sorry" - to take away the stinging slap of harsh words and thoughtless actions. And I would feel the balm of forgiveness - so readily applied - numbing my guilt and healing our friendship. She is so ready, so eager to forgive me. All I have to do is ask. And I can't.
I don't deserve her. I know that. And as much as I want, no... need to put my arms around her and bind her tightly to me - she is the steadying, solid tree around which my wavering ivy clings - as much as I want this, I push her away. Hoping each time that she'll come back to me - she always does - and hoping each time she'll make me feel as bad as I make her feel.
But she is bigger than me and so much stronger than me. She forgives so much, accepts so much - she is a pool of goodness who swallows all I throw at her. And I know that I don't deserve her, and it makes me feel worse. So I hit out again, wanting her to share my fear and all my insecurities which only she can soothe.
She's staring at me again. She opens her mouth to speak. My heart tugs and I look away. How can I tell her I'm sorry? Again? How can I tell her that I can't help myself?
I feel a soft touch on my shoulder and I look up into the face of the woman who holds my heart so carefully, so completely. She smiles and cups my cheek in her caressing palm, and I can't resist; I smile back at her, my heart skipping and my eyes misting. And in that moment, I fall into eyes as green as grass bathed by the morning dew and kissed by the new born sun; disappearing into the depth of love I see there. Her eyes fill me with life, hope and possibilities, drawing out all the guilt and despair that stains the surface of my soul.
Again, I am reborn with her.
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