The Road That Forked Into Two...

She sat crouched at the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around her feet, her chin resting on her knee. His boxers were the only piece of clothing on her body, and the slight draft from the air conditioner that hit her bare back made her shiver involuntarily. He lay sprawled on the bed, on the other side. Apart from the air conditioner, his rhythmic breathing was the only sound that ran through the room.
She looked around the room. Neatly done, tasteful and classic. All the furniture was a dark, deep, rich coffee brown, and the entire upholstery was a subdued shade of white. Almost pastel. Bright shade of white kindred down solely to soothe the eyes.
She liked his bedroom for this precise reason. Everything had a purpose, a place and a discipline. There was no grey. Black and White. The starkness that separated everything soft from everything hard was somehow reassuring.
Why can't life be like that, she sighed. Why did there have to be so many complications? Why did people, circumstances and situations have to have so many shades to it? Why did all answers have to be 'yes but..' and not just simple 'yes's' or 'no's'? Why couldn't he ask her to go along with him? Two companions, on a journey together into unknown lands. Why couldn't she simply pack her bags and leave, wherever he took her?
No matter how much a tree sways during gusty winds, it still says firmly rooted at its place. Pain is addictive. They very things that support us, bind us, she thought.

He lay on the bed, watching her sitting on the edge of the bed, with her back to him. The dim lamp lights framed her dainty form. His eyes trailed the soft contours of her waist and the sharp line that was her spine. They watched the numerous scars on her back, looking at each one after the other, like making an invisible join the dots line. He saw her shiver involuntarily, and wanted to give her something to cover herself, but he stopped himself, lest he shatter her pensive mood.
Why did he have to leave her behind? They were perfect together. Their bodies and minds  fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, each concave complimented with a convex. He wished he could ask her to come along. But he already knew the answer to that question.
If the grand cosmic plan was for us to stay stuck at one place, we'd have roots instead of feet, he thought.

Eventually, she got up, looked around and wore one of his t-shirts lying on the floor. She always said his t-shirts looked better on her, and he never agreed, but he had, on numerous occasions admitted the truth to himself. She was humming their song,  'Under the boardwalk', and it involuntarily made him smile. 

It was one of those boring office parties. When the usual hoopla had settled, somewhere this song started to play and both of them rose from their places, just to wiggle along to this one song. Its where they'd first met. He had no interest in juniors up until then. 

The same soft voice that was  polite, adaptive, eager to learn at work how soon managed to become the soft moans of whispered affection he had no idea. 

But now here they were, going away again.

What is worse, parallel lines that never meet or intersections that meet once, only to be cruelly separated, never being allowed to meet again, he wondered, as her soft humming lulled him to fall asleep again.

She dragged herself to the centre of the bed, near him and rested her back on the bed's headrest, slowly running her fingers through his hair. 'Cafune', she chucked.
Gradually they both fell asleep, each blissfully unaware of the storm that gripped the other person's mind.

"And then the road diverged into two, each one wanted to walk their own, and none could walk the two."