the love that dare not

There is a quiet girl who worries sometimes that she missed something with her first real love, that maybe when she got scared and ran away it was because she had never actually felt anything like that before. So she dates nice boys, boys who will believe her when she whispers promises to them in bed, boys who kiss her on her neck and leave little bruises, who only want to love and be loved and just know that she is the one, right up until she leaves.

She is dating a boy with a mind who likes to pick at things, who asks why all the time, who wants to know what happens when you break rules. He is a painter and thinks that all of life is a question, except, he confided recently in his girlfriend, for her. He doesn't believe her when she is quiet for a long moment and tells him that if she's an answer, it's not to the question he's asking. He kisses her on the neck and it will leave a little bruise and tells her she shouldn't be afraid, that he will never leave her, and she wishes he would understand that she is telling him she's going to leave him in a few weeks, now, before he can hurt too bad.

His brother just graduated high school and never listens when his parents and teachers tell him he has a brilliant mind. He wants to study music, and he also never listens when his parents and teachers tell him he'd be wasting his talents there. He listens to his girlfriend, who is his first and with whom he is sure he is in love, who tells him to do what he likes.

His girlfriend is seventeen and hates it when people don't understand one another. She thinks that it's the most important thing in the world and is going to be a social worker when she grows up, because she thinks everyone should get to do what they like instead of what they are expected to do. She doesn't think she is in love with her boyfriend, but she is staying with him while he goes off to college, in the hopes that he will decide the distance is too much of a strain. On some nights she entertains notions of infidelity, but mostly the thoughts are anathema.

Her sister is a poet, and thinks there is nothing more beautiful than poetry in any of the three languages she speaks. She has always loved words, their nuances, learning their meanings more intuitively than any dictionary could. And despite the sometimes mournful and wistful sentiments she expresses she insists that she is happier than any human being has a right to be, and she says it with such eloquence and conviction, no one has ever thought to question her.