A continuation of this.
She drew herself up straight as her mind whirred to find a way out again. She'd laid bare a little too much damaged soul with her words than was comfortable. She could feel the heat creeping into her face. Could almost see a red glow radiating from the direction of her ears.
A glance back at him.
"Was that the answer you were looking for?" With a slightly forced laugh in an attempt to cover her messy tracks.
A beat, then, "Yes."
His eyes penetrated hers in a way she wasn't sure she could explain. As if he could actually see into her, deeper than words, farther than actions, beyond her emotions, and straight down to her so very human core. Like he could directly see her rotten, longing roots, and he understood. His gaze seemed to pull an explanation from her, and before she could stop herself, she had begun.
"It's just," she blurted, as if he had been coaxing the words from her mouth until the dam broke and it came spilling out. She repeated, this time haltingly, "It's just that there is so much more… than all of…" A gesture to the moist soil and the surrounding scenery, "this. Sometimes I just can't handle it anymore. It's like there's this creature inside of my skin, always fighting madly to get out, to whatever else is out there."
She put her hand to her chest and he noticed how lovely her hands were—how delicate and structured they looked in that light. She continued, "Sometimes I can really, physically feel my chest being pressed by this monster inside—this wild thing that is trying so feverishly to get to… home."
She had breathed out the last word like it was some precious recollection, newly unlocked from her memory; like a soft, childhood lullaby that put her to sleep each night, but one that she never really understood the meaning of until now.
And right when she thought she was done, "And I don't understand how people can just settle with simplicity and shallowness when there's clearly a universe to explore in this life. What on earth are we doing here?" She paused for a moment, then went on, "And the way we communicate—I mean, this superficial small-talk that people settle with—how can we be okay with this language? It's as if…" She grasped for a way to explain. "It's as if we're okay with simply brushing the dusty surfaces of one another—you know, the part of us that is just dead skin cells—when, oh my word, there is an entire human being underneath that skin, just waiting to be delved into by a caring soul, in more than just a couple short words. Small talk—" She remarked with disgust, "what is that, anyway?"
Then, a silence.
A nervous laugh as she again attempted to conceal her heavy thoughts with a passing smile and a lighthearted, "That was a long rant. Sorry about that."
Immediately he spoke, "Oh, no, don't be sorry. Everything you said was true. Don't apologize."
Oh, why? Why did he leave it at that? Is that really all he was going to say when an ocean of noise was crashing in his mind? "It was true"? Is that it? When all that time, he was just lost in the musical strains of her soft, thoughtful words, and all conscious thought was wiped from his mind with those thoughts of hers, all he was going to say was "it was all true"?
Because you are more cared for than you think, and more admired than you know. If you think you've been disregarded, think again.
This is a shot from the senior photo shoot that I did on Thursday. I am so excited to get editing them. She is beautiful.