“Oh, you weak, beautiful people who give up with such grace. What you need is someone to take hold of you — gently, with love, and hand your life back to you.”

 Tennessee Williams

When we first met, I thought I knew who she was. The desires that were to make up her already tainted destiny could be manipulated with ridiculous subtleties and easy posturing. I had collected the truths like they were merely an activity and opted instead for the lies with everyone else. But she was different. She was going to force my hand. I was preparing myself to let her. I was unwilling to overcome her. I simply wanted in.

All in.

But fate is cruel. It slips around the trigger of the unplanned but always seen and pulls carelessly.

And I had forgotten.

It was all apart of the overwhelming scheme, the thickening plot, the tangled web we would excitedly weave as though our actions were floating alone without consequences. Just bitterly executed measures and bars of temporary satisfaction in hopes for more. More than ourselves. More than destiny had provided thus far.

I remember the first time I saw a glimpse of what would wreck me, standing there in the kitchen, recently embraced. Unpleasantly surprised by my presence. I was an interruption.

When I confronted her that night, after unsuccessfully attempting to will away what I then knew, she smiled.

She smiled and nodded proudly, as she had forgotten the meaning of fate as well. She had forgotten how easily my temper could become aroused.

“What is this, Ashley? Huh, what is this smile?”

“I’m not smiling, am I?” she asks, smugly.

It’s amazing the various, schizophrenic personalities love can produce. I had never seen her smug.

Hopeful.

Desperate.

Gentle.

Aggressive.

Needy.

But never smug. Never with me.

“Don’t act like I’m stupid. Not even for a second,” I warned.

But she saw what she wanted. I had never presented myself as a threat to her and so far, she had no reason to assume I could be anyone else other than the version she knew. We were alike in that way.

We were both on our knees. Waiting for someone to protect the fragility of our worlds as we knew them.