They sat on opposite ends of the room, two twisted bodies. Twisted from many years of many bad relationships that did not work, twisted into a protective ball, twisted in on themselves.
Guarding their pain, shielding their wounded hearts. Closed to feelings and emotions. Yet she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. Yet he longed to hear her say the words but they were closed and twisted.
She opened herself up hesitantly like a rose blossom opening itself to the sun. Beyond the beauty and radiance of those soft petals all he saw was the memory of the thorns. And so he twisted himself into a tighter ball and roared like an old lion from his sanctuary for her to stay away, stay away.
The rose trembled in fear and withered before the furnace of his hostility. She retreated into a ball of safety, protecting her belly and her heart. And then she roared – in pain and frustration. And he retreated further into his pretzel.
He was a man. She was a child.