The Imperfect Practice

She sat next to him, calm, self-assured, and strong.  "It is as though we are on the same string, just at opposite ends," her voice soft and sensual without a hint of effort.  She gently slid her fingertips along his mandolin.  "I am knotted here,"    her fingertips tapping the edge of the bridge.  "But you are all the way over at the other end."  She slid her hand along the strings to the tuning pegs, lightly twisting one between two fingers before letting her hand fall back into her lap.  "When we are struck, we sing the same note, because we are connected. So whatever note is struck - love, caution, passion, fear - it reverberates back to each of us. I think we understand each other a lot more than we think we do." She took a deep breath before she continued.  "But the problem is, these two ends never meet." She tapped each end of the strings, then let her hand fall to rest on his knee.  "You have to brea...

She felt the warmth of his lips against hers as his hands crossed over her back and down her hips. Her hands pressed against his chest as she melted, not wanting anything more than just this one moment.  All too soon, they stopped pressing into each other and began their separation. Before a breathe of air came between their lips, she was filled with regret.  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her mind was racing. All her thoughts were curse words, but they were all racing. Shit. SHIT. FUCK. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck. She pressed her hands against his chest, backing away much more quickly than she initially intended. "Are you ok?" he asked her, obviously surprised by the turn of events. "I really shouldn't have done that," She blurted out quickly as she scanned the area for her purse. She couldn't remember if she even brought a purse. Shit. "It's ok - I understand what you....." Sympathy poured from his eyes as he tried to hold onto he...

She  pivoted swiftly , resting her left fingertips on the center of the door. As she gently shifted her weight backwards, she pulled the door close to her chest, closing it as silently as humanly possible.  She relaxed her wrist slightly, letting the spring of the door handle unwind. Aiming for complete silence, she absorbed the twist of the door handle, letting it slowly relax itself against her hand. After nearly an eternity, the tension exhausted. She delicately released the handle and  pirouetted spryly  to continue down the hallway.  "What the fuck?" she thought, as her eyes rested on his suitcase in the middle of the hallway. Did he pack his bags while I put her down for a nap? What the fuck?  She continued silently down the hallway. He walked in the front door at the same time she entered the living room. Obviously , he is loading his car. He quickly shuffles to the hallway, saying nothing.  The pain in her chest spiked as the vice arou...