blood_red_sharpie_white_flag once again “Hello?" "Hey. Do you wanna go to the mall?" "Uh? Sure I guess. What's up?" "Nothing. I'll pick you up. See you in a bit." ...The words they say are not important... not in the sense of the words themselves. They are feigning indifference, but even indifference feigned shows more thoughtfulness then they are willing to. It's a complicated dance, but they are skilled... She will tempt the storm, that sunshine mop sparkling beneath deep purple clouds. He will dare to be tempted, standing tall before her in cotton t-shirt armor. They will dance with fire. And they get in the car, driving just to go somewhere. And they are together for hours unnoticed and as the sun sets they meander home. The cats are waiting. And he tells her how he hates to be alone. And he has not asked, but she will stay with him. "My sword is coming next Wednesday." "Yeah? You excited?" And she looks up from petting the cat as he leans on the ancient shotgun. "It'll be better then sleeping with this under my bed. I think it would be scarier, too. Can you imagine?" The imaginary sword swings up. His arm closes around her throat. 'Don't move.' "I'm yours." And she falls into him. Still they hold the pose like some ancient sacrificial tableau. "It's been like that for some time now." It is not a question. But she answers any way. "Yes." She has dropped a bombshell in the moment of his weakness. And the silence that falls reverberates with truth and hope and heart. Survival however, is an instinct as old as time. And they both want to live. And in the moment, as if they had planned it... some unspoken signal... she sits up and his arm releases her. You could not fail to see the fire that crackles. You would not miss the slow heat, but in the haze of the fading day they fence with nonchalance. They are casual, because they can be no other way. This cannot be special. This cannot be momentous and real. This is just a friendly visit. And the occasional barbs and jagged thrusts are tinted with the glances that say, "I am yours and you are mine, but I will not yield." They know. Perhaps they have always known. That together for whatever reason they form a sort of force... vital and subtle. Electricity in the air. To the victor go the spoils. But they do not fight... though the violence is there; it is the violence of a pillow fight. They laugh. For they are comfortable... they understand... They have played this game before. And should the laughter cease and reality set in... it will be too dangerous to go on. They are not lying to themselves, but to the world. As if they deny it even here where no one can see it will make it all not true. And in the dark... they declare a draw... and she admits that she is tempted and he gives in to the delicacy of her throat... And it is not love that they are making... but passion. She is not so weak as to admit to need, but neither is she strong enough to go without. He is not so weak to admit to want, but he is not strong enough not to take. They are a match for each other. And neither will admit... and neither will yield... And neither will they go without. Lest things seem a bit anti climatic... So they swirl and dance and her heat rises up to engulf him but he quickly cools her down. This is the way it must go... the hero never travels to the distant lands without daring the monster and so they are heroic... And they chant their mantra... We should never do this again... But there are smiles on their faces and the eyes that flash boldly in the fading day are glinting... ”Yes. Let's never do this again”. When the white flag is flown... no one... no one... no one... has won the war. 040929 what's it to you? who go blather from