Wednesday, February 6, 2013 | post a comment {0}

      His face was soft as he stroked a bare, pale arm. The woman's small, lithe frame's only response was to hug his body closer. She was surely in love with him after one night he thought regretfully. It was almost sweet and idealistic and endearing, but it always seemed that way. Of course, this was not his fault. It was the silky sheets, the lit candles, the falsely deep conversations. Yes. But not because they actually had a connection. No. She was nothing and it wasn't his fault that she was weak and unsuspecting. It was almost sad when they were this vulnerable. Why was there no defiance? No fight, suspicion, something, anything to make them less innocent.

      They all swooned at affection, melting into his well practiced and overused phrases. It disgusted him. Were they so desperate that they would trust such delicate hearts in the hands of a stranger? That's all he was. A stranger. A distant nobody that unfortunately became a somebody in a world soon to crash and burn. She would wake up sad and broken, and he the villain. But it wasn't his fault. No.

      His hands fisted the soft sheets. Why did they do this to themselves? Who had damaged them so profusely that they became okay with gaudy, artificial romance? See, this was not his fault at all. It was the fault of these weak-willed women. Of the terrible men that taught them how to be weak-willed. Of the trashy romance novels they probably read in between tears and bitterness and tubs of melty ice cream.

      He was but the mediator. The wake up call they needed. The donator of a beautiful, sweet night. The provider of a harsh morning good bye in hopes of bringing them back to reality. Silently screaming at them, "You are worth so much more than all of this." He started when the petite female in his arms stirred. She smiled sleepily at him and nuzzled her face into the crook of his collarbone. "I love you," she whispered softly.

      He hesitated before pulling her close. "I love you too."