Unspoken, but Avowed Nonetheless

Her:  It's been over a month.  *sigh* Does it bother you that I'm still not ready?

Him:  You feel quite ready to me.

Her:  [ She shakes her head slightly. ]  You know that is not what I mean.

Him:  hmm....  No.  [ He wraps his arms a little more tightly around her. ]  No, it doesn't bother me.  Don't...don't get me wrong, I thoroughly look forward to hearing the words cross those perfect lips of yours, but...I don't need to hear the words to know their truth.  I can feel them in every glance, every smile, in your biting wit, in the perfect silences that rest between us, in every - single - simple - touch...

[ He shifts his grip, causing her to turn around in his arms and face him. ]

Him:  I can taste the words
                             on the tip of your tongue
                                                             every time
                                                                          we kiss.

Her:  That was very poetic of you.

Him:  ^shrug^ What can I say, you're rubbing off on me.

[ He lifts his hand to cup the side of her face, gently brushes her cheek with his thumb, and leans in for a taste of the three little words that reside in her heart, but torment her mind. ]

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On (or about) conversation:  I haven't quite found a comfort level with adding dialogue to my poetry.  I have done so on occasions, but I still can't get a feel for it.  It's kind of funny to me, as I was thinking about this write that my thoughts paralleled a previous dialogue post.  I think dialogue appeals to me because I lack the ability (the grace) to say what lies beneath the surface (partly because I shy away from conversation in general - the ill effects of social anxiety).  Of course I wage a lot of what I write exists due to my inability to connect in the world beyond the ones I like to fabricate.

While You Crossed the Room

Him:  Hi.

Her:  Fair warning, in the time it took you to cross the room, in my head we married and adopted three kids—all stamped “made in the USA” so no worries there.  But it’s all good ‘cause I can definitely compartmentalize fabrication from reality—as long as the real kiss isn’t worse than the one in my head.

Him:  Are you trying to scare me off?  Or trying to get me to kiss you?

Her:  Well, reality does have a way of getting in the way of fabricated love.  Then again, if the kiss is better than imagined, I might be inclined to add two kids of our own making.

[He nodded in contemplation of her logic; then locked eyes with her before leaning in and kissing her until everything disappears around them.  He pulls back; her eyes still closed; his face just inches from hers.]

Him:  I think we’d make rather cute kids.

Her:  hmm…quite beautiful, if I do say so myself.

[He closes the distance and kisses her again.]

---

On (or about) conversation:  I have always liked dialogue.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that I struggle so with it in the real world.  I suppose part of it also stems from my dislike of details, which is why I tend to write poetry over prose—you get to cut out all of the extra nonsensical words and details.  I actually wrote a whole novel completely in dialogue prior to going back, typing it up, and adding in all of the extras; I really do have an aversion to lengthy prose.  Maybe I missed my calling as a playwright or screenwriter.