The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock: Revisited.
He'd ask her "so what are you doing?"
She thinks "thinking of how I should tell you I lo...thinking of how i should say: crying...thinking of how badly i'd like to end this right now."
She says "just sitting here, listening to jazz...relaxing, you know."
He'll agree, of course, and respond to her mundanely, with just enough apathy to force her to spark the conversation, knowing she will.
She abides willingly, but quietly disgruntled. She'll grit her teeth, her jaw will become tight. And so it does.
Uncontrollably.
He asks another follow up question, to appear interested. She is doubting the interest, she believes it to be fake.
She'll answer it anyway.
And she does, promptly, vaguely, and lacking any certain graces, ones which are to be expected in polite conversation.
She is now becoming angry with herself, feeling as though to judged his intentions too quickly, and so she tags on pleasant babble...something unimportant but relevant about the subject, attempting to seem amiable.
She does.
He remains oblivious to her obvious torment.
He replies with three word sentences, and half smiles.
She forces an unscathed complacent demeanor, and fakes her smiles, and soft giggles.
She now stares upon him, with a loving gaze, but hides it when he turns to glance back.
Inside she is reeling.
She is at war with her insides, there is a battle going on right infront of him.
Still, he will remain oblivious.
So he does.
She won't win this one, shes sinking. Fast.
Shes beautiful, stunning, in fact, and he knows it. Every little inch of him knows it.
He feels unworthy, but will mask it with nonchalance, and apathy toward her.
She is ignorant to that fact.
He will take advantage of this.
He doesn't want to make her sway, but he can, it is dangerous water they tread in.
He knows, and he causes ripples and waves still. It will become harder for her to stay afloat.
She is one small gesture, minutiae compliment, and string of directed flattery, away from letting him have what he wants.
She knows.
She cannot do what she knows she should, and she craves the feeling of strength for doing what is best for her heart.
But she'll give in again.
And she does.
And still,
He knows nothing.
She thinks "thinking of how I should tell you I lo...thinking of how i should say: crying...thinking of how badly i'd like to end this right now."
She says "just sitting here, listening to jazz...relaxing, you know."
He'll agree, of course, and respond to her mundanely, with just enough apathy to force her to spark the conversation, knowing she will.
She abides willingly, but quietly disgruntled. She'll grit her teeth, her jaw will become tight. And so it does.
Uncontrollably.
He asks another follow up question, to appear interested. She is doubting the interest, she believes it to be fake.
She'll answer it anyway.
And she does, promptly, vaguely, and lacking any certain graces, ones which are to be expected in polite conversation.
She is now becoming angry with herself, feeling as though to judged his intentions too quickly, and so she tags on pleasant babble...something unimportant but relevant about the subject, attempting to seem amiable.
She does.
He remains oblivious to her obvious torment.
He replies with three word sentences, and half smiles.
She forces an unscathed complacent demeanor, and fakes her smiles, and soft giggles.
She now stares upon him, with a loving gaze, but hides it when he turns to glance back.
Inside she is reeling.
She is at war with her insides, there is a battle going on right infront of him.
Still, he will remain oblivious.
So he does.
She won't win this one, shes sinking. Fast.
Shes beautiful, stunning, in fact, and he knows it. Every little inch of him knows it.
He feels unworthy, but will mask it with nonchalance, and apathy toward her.
She is ignorant to that fact.
He will take advantage of this.
He doesn't want to make her sway, but he can, it is dangerous water they tread in.
He knows, and he causes ripples and waves still. It will become harder for her to stay afloat.
She is one small gesture, minutiae compliment, and string of directed flattery, away from letting him have what he wants.
She knows.
She cannot do what she knows she should, and she craves the feeling of strength for doing what is best for her heart.
But she'll give in again.
And she does.
And still,
He knows nothing.
posted by Christineee_Marieee at
10:06 PM
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