Emily

Emily cautiously brushed away wisps of hair that had become tangled in her eyelashes, leaned forward, and blew out the candle. With an exhausted sigh, her breath diminished the flame and silence hovered above the still room. Uncomfortable with herself, her thoughts, and even the acknowledgment of her restlessness, she crept into bed. As she did, the silence of the room was broken by the whispers of her nightgown fluttering with her movement and her bare feet aggravating the wood beneath it. The next few moments, Emily attempted to reason with herself; to open herself and accept a morsel of vulnerability. Romance was not a subject Emily was comfortable with, and she hesitated to even entertain the idea that this friendship had become something more. Emily couldn’t sit alone with her own thoughts, and she understood that. In her neurotic, hyper-critical way, she began to analyze why this might be. The conclusion at which she arrived was uncomfortable and mind-achingly predictable: that she was not comfortable with herself. Even if this relationship were to become something greater—something more—how could she give enough of herself to satisfy a relationship when she didn’t even know who she was or what she could give. Relationships require a great amount of confidence and contentment on both parties. Because of this, Emily decidedly self-sabotaged her end of it and pocketed the feelings she entertained, the rebel in her that desperately desired to unwrap them, and the worn heartstrings that teased the nervous butterflies dancing in her stomach. She tucked them away in the furthest possible place—a safe place where they would remain preserved but untouched for as long as she could bear it.