Fragments
of Hope ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I have loved her unendurably. And will continue to do so for as long as I draw breath. Sometimes she cries out in her sleep. Never a name, nor anything that could be considered a word; only a sound, so small it creates a need in me, a need to hold her. I reach out for her, to cradle her in my arms… to attempt to assuage whatever emotion runs rampant in her dreams. She turns away, as if I had disappointed her in a way she cannot articulate. I am left watching her back, her even breathing, her hair on the pillow and on her soft shoulders smelling of a vague and elusive sweetness. I reach out for her and realize that she has no knowledge of my existence; that in sleep she returns to an unnamable bliss without me, a happiness I neither provided nor am capable of partaking of. I can only hold her when she allows, be there when she needs me, and sometimes have her nestled in my arms as she is now. I kiss the area between her nape and her shoulder, where the light of a nearby binary star crosshatches delicate shadows. She stirs slightly, shrugging me off like an intruder. I wrap my arm around her waist and mold my body closer to hers, and she turns in my arms, her face now only one word's distance from mine. How strange that my life has come to this… sifting through a myriad of meanings and memories of this Collective, searching for the right word to bridge that immeasurable space between her life and mine. Soon her eyes will begin to open, and her hand will rise up suddenly, blocking the unexpected sight of me, so close, so soon. I always anticipated that I would want more than the patterns I had observed in the crew, more than a few nights of sweaty copulation in her quarters, and then the slow end, the boredom and pettiness. I stated my intentions clearly from the beginning. She looked frightened by my words, wary of my sincerity, and distrustful of the naked longing and new-born loyalty. I remember the strange, subtle emotions that flickered over her face. How she stared back at me, as if memorizing my face, and then wrenched her gaze away. How she told me she loved me, her face reddening, her mouth an embarrassed grimace. She had waved an arm awkwardly at her own words, wary of my intimacy.
There are still conflicts between us, a sea of disagreement and hostility that I am unable to cross. She told me yesterday, when I restated my request for a deeper relationship, that I was acting like a spoiled child. She has always perceived me as a child. It is infuriating. I can no longer tolerate her flippant indifference regarding our relationship… our love. I understand this Collective now. I have experienced the pain that they have felt, the futility of a love that has no logical future. I have tried to assimilate hope and forgiveness, but I know that such emotions are pointless. She will leave me. Or I will be forced to leave her. That is certain, as certain as the warmth that will fade from the sheets we lie on, as certain as the furious copulation that ensues when she needs me too much and is too proud to acknowledge it. Her desire is insufficient. I want her to love me, love me for everything and anything I may become. I want to place my hand on hers in the mess hall. I do not want her to flinch when I state my emotions… my intentions. I need more, and she has nothing left to give me. She has been my undoing. I cannot stand her. I cannot withstand her.
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