Life on Point
The truth
We slipped into being a couple again as naturally and easily as falling asleep. In so many ways our relationship was better than before. Now there was no game playing, no doubt; we had each known what the world was like without the other one in it and were not prepared to go there again. One cliché I have found to be true “absence makes the heart grow fonder” and it had, it really and truly had. I loved her in a way I never knew was possible. I understood now, finally, what people meant when they said they felt complete. I had not previously thought was a part of me missing but she made me feel so whole I could hardly believe it.
Just one short week after we had rekindled our relationship we were lying next to each other in bed: hands, legs and hair intertwined.
“I’m anorexic”
The words shattered our blissful silence, blunt yet unbelievably cutting. I knew this was the case, had known the day I saw her in the hospital. I knew when she changed our dinner dates to walks in the park or films. I knew when she told me she didn’t fancy dinner because she’d ‘eaten so much at lunch’. I knew when I saw tears spring into her eyes when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Knew when I saw her bones jutting out angularly from her body, her breasts gone, her nails splitting from lack of calcium. Knew when she stared at food with such intense fear it made me want to rush over to her and hold her impossibly thin frame close to me. I knew yet I had remained silent. Selfishly silent. I had not wanted to hear the answer, not wanted the inevitable truth to be spoken out loud. Because to say it would make it real, real in a way I wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.
She looked at me expectantly. I wanted to ask her how long, how serious, how was she, and above all: why? But I knew the time for questions would come later, the time for the answers I didn’t really want to hear. For now all I said was “I know” and pulled her closer to me, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“You make me feel like I’m dancing” she told me quietly. And it was then I started to cry.
Just one short week after we had rekindled our relationship we were lying next to each other in bed: hands, legs and hair intertwined.
“I’m anorexic”
The words shattered our blissful silence, blunt yet unbelievably cutting. I knew this was the case, had known the day I saw her in the hospital. I knew when she changed our dinner dates to walks in the park or films. I knew when she told me she didn’t fancy dinner because she’d ‘eaten so much at lunch’. I knew when I saw tears spring into her eyes when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Knew when I saw her bones jutting out angularly from her body, her breasts gone, her nails splitting from lack of calcium. Knew when she stared at food with such intense fear it made me want to rush over to her and hold her impossibly thin frame close to me. I knew yet I had remained silent. Selfishly silent. I had not wanted to hear the answer, not wanted the inevitable truth to be spoken out loud. Because to say it would make it real, real in a way I wasn’t prepared to acknowledge.
She looked at me expectantly. I wanted to ask her how long, how serious, how was she, and above all: why? But I knew the time for questions would come later, the time for the answers I didn’t really want to hear. For now all I said was “I know” and pulled her closer to me, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“You make me feel like I’m dancing” she told me quietly. And it was then I started to cry.
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Sorry it's been a while, I was in Egypt :)Please tell me what you think. Even if you've never commented before, just say hi. It's nice to know people are actually reading this :)