a quiet resolve-

she sat tensely, poking at her food as he sought to peer into her life. she wasn't sure what he wanted from the encounter, but she had been across a table from a man who asked much of her many times before. too many times. was he trying to learn pieces of her history in order to make sense of his? was he seeking to make her his equal, attempting to unearth something about life he hadn't quite grasped? like a broken record she told the story of her last love. he asked her if she still loved him. that she could finally answer.

no. but do i want to? that is a different question. remembering her mantra, she whispered softly, "forgive yourself."

as he looked into her eyes, she felt a quiet resolve. it's okay for you to tell his story, you know? tears accumulating, then leaving their imprint on her cheeks. she responds hesitantly.

yea i know. 

you loved him, and from the way it seems, you loved him like a person dreams of being loved. 

her hand finds its way to her face, she smiles. i loved him. i loved him like i dream of being loved.

he sought to peer into her life, gaining something from the encounter. he had no idea that he would give. but that's how it happens, that's how it always happens.