Would that he didn't need such a invitation to speak of his desires and the longing of his soul. Should it be then that she always must lay bare herself in hopes it gives him enough room to leave behind his own fear and simply love without the promise of love in return. Save her from such vulnerability, love her enough to know the steps are so terribly hard for her.
It is for this gift, this bravery, that she cannot stand resolute.
In the face of such impulsive surety she can do nothing but meet it with her own truth and give from herself everything he asks.
How could she turn her gaze from such absolute truth given in vulnerable brazen attitude that leaves her in security and safety of quiet unknown. Though it be only until he speaks. She need only his lead, his guidance, his first step to give her the strength for her own.
It is simply the way, she cannot bare herself when so many do so very easily. She needs to be different, she needs to be worth the effort of his works. Call it cowardly if you please, call it games if you must, but it is the prose of romance at its most basic place.
Step forward, take her hand, so that in this embrace she is left safe and secure in the knowledge that surely he would not speak thusly unless it was true, for what way did she lead him to such words? How could she have impressed it upon him? Nae, it is his own hand, his own words, his own heart that has driven him here.
It is with her promise that he will not regret such gallant measures, for at the center of her soul beats the heart of a woman most encouraged by loving gaze of her most desired heart. That her hand will press upon his chest and take each beat he offers without fear, without concern of her own, as the love has proven true and given without care if it would be returned or not.
To keep his silence is to kill her heart most steadily and most securely. The quiet darkness she has been relented to is without peace and without rest....as the echo of his heartbeat goes on forever weakening as it turns away from her.
Pray, do not leave her there alone and so coldly discarded, when she knows within his heart there is a skip, a tremor, an oddity that knows it is without hers.
He thinks he knows of her heart, the weakness and hurt of her soul. Perhaps he knows bits and pieces, but the truest part of her is still saved, still hidden behind the mask of that place they stand. A gift for him yet. She waits. She sits still and holds to hope that with each passing day the skipping beat of his heart grows louder until he can bare it no more and must turn back to her.
She wants so much to give him more of who she is and despairs each day as he speaks words he thinks true of her. But he has only known the surface and while he demands more he gives nothing of himself, so then why should he dare think he could beg her favors. Or is he indeed content to sit in silent acceptance of loss, expecting all actions to come from her in the show of no true gentleman. And when impulsive nature drives forwards she is then remanded and paused, spoken to as if she were a child. Held off and what then should she take from this?
Such confusing words and prose and play between two souls entwined without effort...the true effort is in the untangling.
She fears there is no way to dis-tangle him from the parts of his soul that has embraced her own.
Pray, send her relief from the prison of her heart.