The Maverick

She stares into his eyes, a thousand questions clouding her vision. Questions whose answers left long ago.
He looks away, and she suffocates a little more.
The air around her is heavy, oppressive. The fiber of her being surges with urgency- but never desperation.
A deep sadness clutches her heart, or is it merely her imagination. Her love of the dramatic, the morose. The feeling holds to her with a cold, angry fist. Rather than shattering her, it lingers in its gripping ache.
She stands alone, waiting. Waiting for all of her to be numb. For everything to fade away, like mist over a great glassy sea. She waits for rushing waves to carry her to some forgotten, distant shore. She is always waiting.
His mouth moves, words hang in the air around her. They drug her into a cruel stillness. Nothing to say, even less to feel. Or perhaps too much. Empty.
His hand reaches towards her, uncertain. Unsteady legs carry her backward. Time does not wait.