Flaw Salad

On wooden stairs, she held knees to her chest, and her body shook with sobs. He watched her and felt the full force of his impotence. He searched for words to soothe her. He wondered if and how he should touch her. He hoped she could feel the love in his heart.

From several feet away, she heard his silence. She felt the absence of his hands. She retreated inward, further and further, and the floor fell out between them.

In the now-empty space, a cloud began to form. It was dark and full of hurt—a hazy collection of words they never should have spoken. An insult, a censure, a threat.

As they stayed frozen, the cloud grew and darkened to a curtain. They could no longer see each other. They could see only pain.

Each awash in despair, they waited too long to reach out. The cloud had gained ferocity, and it struck their outstretched hands. Bright white flashes of betrayal. Jagged lines of regret.

Hope disintegrated, and they each withdrew from the unrelenting rumble of their bitterest memories. Bits of cloud clung to their clothing as they turned and walked away.

Over time, they learned to forget. They forgot faces. They forgot heartache. They forgot good. But they each remembered one thing, a moral etched between scars. For him, it was to never leave a gap. For her, it was to never need.

They wandered alone a very long time.