a story: part 10.

on a thursday a few weeks later, he stood at the bedroom door.

she'd been anxious and afraid and overwhelmed. and he'd been living inside his head - creating elaborate escapes in his mind. he was unhappy in most facets of his life and it was alarming his heart.

when he approached her, she was curled in a ball in the bed. the covers were on the floor and she was sobbing. she hadn't slept in days. she didn't know how to feel when the person she loved the most didn't have the energy to love her back. she imagined the pain she felt to be similar to the way a tree feels when it loses its leaves too early in the season. naked. ashamed. but mostly, vulnerable. it was a raw feeling that grew more raw every minute he stayed inside himself.

he'd asked her to be patient. because he needed time to figure out what to do. he wished she hadn't accidentally painted shut the lock to his trunk. he wondered why she painted the sky blue instead of green. he asked her why she wasn't smiling lately.

she sat up, rubbed her eyes and said, "i don't know how to smile anymore."

and he said, "i'm sorry."

he took the covers off the floor and tucked them tightly around her so that from afar, she looked like a lump of mush in the middle of the mattress. he told her he loved her and walked out to attempt to pick his lock.