I’m not sure what I want to do with this for sure.  Not even really sure I want to share it, but I’m going to anyways.

Her eyes had been a little too sad for a little too long, but she was good at hiding that from most people. To the untrained eye she was doing well: good job, happy kids, lovely home. She covered her insecurities with a charming smile, cute hair, and bright lipstick. No one knew that she was sad. No one knew that it was hard to get up each morning, hard to plaster the smile onto her well made-up face, hard to simply breathe. She hid it well, because she thought she had to. She thought she needed to keep up appearances. She had never allowed herself to show any weakness because she had always been strong. She was the one that helped everyone else, she didn’t know how to accept help for herself.

When he looked at her, he could see right through her facade. He saw that her eyes weren’t as bright as they used to be. He saw that she was tired, that she was sad, that she needed someone to take care of her for once, rather than the other way around. He recognized himself in her eyes, and wanted more than anything to be the helper, healer, and lover she needed.

When they spoke it wasn’t superficial. They didn’t need small talk, or gossip, or banal conversation. He asked about her secrets, and she shared them. He told her of his ghosts, and his demons. They discussed art, literature, nature, and God. They debated politics, planned their futures, and laughed about their pasts. When the subject of sex came up, it was easy, and natural, and obvious that it was something they both needed. They didn’t love each other, neither of them had time for that, but neither of them were willing to accept being lonely any longer.

When he kissed her the first time, she knew that she was desired, which wasn’t something she was used to feeling. She had never believed that she deserved to be wanted. Her thighs were a little too thick, her belly a little too soft, her hair a little too wild, her voice a little too loud. She was always almost good enough, almost worthy of love. Even when she had been with other men—men who said all the right words and did all the right things—she had never felt like they actually wanted her; they just didn’t have any better options at the time.

They responded to each others needs in ways that they didn’t know were possible. She didn’t know how lonely she had been, how desperate she was for touch, and human connection. She didn’t know what it was like to be given the kind of sexual attention her body so violently needed, and her soul so painfully ached for. He satisfied her every need, and she reveled in every second of it. When his fingers tangled in her hair and pulled her closer, she melted into him. He was satisfied by her gratification; his pleasure throbbed along with hers.

When they collapsed together, reveling in their euphoria, he turned to her, looked into her eyes that were a little less sad than they once were, and kissed her lips gently. “Promise me you won’t lose your shine. You’re not as bright as you should be, but you will be again soon.”