Two portraits of love
Two portraits of love prose stories

silverdiane Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
One love ends, and another one goes on.

Two portraits of love

'I love you!' she thought but "I hate you," was what she said.

"This is unnatural," Eva added motioning to themselves, "we cannot go on like this."

But how could she go on? She had touched the sun. The wax had melted from over her heart, her vulnerabilities had shone through, and time had turned their pleasures into pain.

The scorning eye of the neighbour, that was unnatural. Their words plunging into her love's heart, yes, that was unnatural.

She recalled seeing her, just yesterday, with an eye blackened by hatred, their words had turned to blows hardened by their lack of understanding.

'I love you,' she begged her lips not moving, or perhaps unable to.

'I love you' and her lover left without a word, without a plea.

Eva's eyes misted with regret but what more could she do?

Was it unatural to love or was love never meant to be?

Her thoughts drowned in unshed tears, swimming with the regrets of words unspoken, her hands trembled with the longing to hold her again.

"I love you," she pleaded, but there was no one but her shadow by her side. It was just herself and the echo of that name. That sweet name. That maddening name. Maria.

"Maria, Maria, Maria." She whispered, as though saying it three times would summon her loved one, take them to happier days, where their pleas would be heard.

A country where the sun shone with the brightness of acceptance.

"Why did we love, if it was only to have it all taken away."


"Why do we love..." he whispered to to his sleepy lover.

His arms were wrapped around him, the movie they were watching blazing soft noises, they lulled his drowsy partner.

A ring glinted in the dark, it was the one he had offered his lover.

He had wanted to promise him forever, in a time when their love had not been allowed a name.

But they had given it their own, written their story, and drying the ink of their sorrows with the happiness of today.

They were husbands now. Husbands.

Why was it so that this realisation made him smile every time? Why was he able to care this much, to love this much, when it had been so hard in their begining?

It had gotten easier, people growing more accepting when they realised that there was no real difference between them.

He would encounter the occasional shocked gaze, still. The whispers and the jokes that morphed into slurs. But he braved them all with his head held high.

What did it matter whom he loved? Man, woman, aren't they equal? Or did equality end when it came to whom he loved?

He remembered his mother, always a remark on her tongue, she had never given up the dream to see him wedded to a wife.

His dad understood, he could see it in his eyes, in his lips that were pressed just a little too tight. Words his dad never told him, he understood, now.

He was saddened by the past, but is grateful for today.

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