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"maybe tomorrow will be better"
Prairie sat on the worn couch in the living room, her fingers tracing the edge of a coffee mug that had long gone cold. She stared at the wall, not really seeing it, her thoughts spiraling deeper into the dark place she had been avoiding for months. Glenn was in the kitchen, his back turned to her as he washed dishes with slow, methodical movements.
The silence between them was thick, suffocating. Prairie couldn’t take it anymore. She set the mug down on the coffee table with a soft clink, gathering whatever courage she could find.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Glenn paused, the clattering of dishes stopping as he turned his head slightly to listen, but he didn’t turn around. He kept his hands in the soapy water, as if the task before him was more important than what she was saying.
“I didn’t hate myself every second back then,” Prairie continued, her words spilling out faster now that she had started. “There was a time when I believed…I was something. I don’t know what exactly happened, but it’s like my mind and body got used to your compliments, to the way you used to look at me.”
Glenn didn’t respond, but Prairie could see his shoulders tense. She knew he was listening, even if he didn’t want to.
“And now that you’ve grown tired of them—of me—my mind’s convinced itself that I’m undesirable,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s like…I feel it. The inattention, the kisses you’ve stopped giving, the disappointment you try to hide, but I see it, Glenn. I know it, down to my bones. And now, even I’ve started to question my worth.”
Glenn sighed, finally turning off the faucet. He wiped his hands on a dish towel before turning to face her, his expression conflicted. He didn’t move from his spot in the kitchen, though, keeping a distance between them that felt like a chasm.
“You’re overthinking this, Prairie,” he said, his tone neutral, almost tired. “You’re still…you. I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s not about you.”
Prairie shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “But it is about me, Glenn. I can feel it every time you look at me like I’m a burden, every time you avoid touching me like you used to. I know I’ve changed, but so have you. And it’s killing me.”
Glenn looked down at the floor, his jaw tightening. He didn’t have an answer for her, didn’t know what to say to make it better. He felt the weight of her words, the truth in them, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not out loud.
“Prairie,” he began, but she cut him off, standing up from the couch with a sudden burst of energy.
“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Don’t tell me it’s all in my head. I know what I feel, and I know what’s happening between us. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Glenn swallowed hard, feeling a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He hadn’t realized how much his indifference had affected her, hadn’t wanted to see the damage he was causing. He walked over to her, slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal. When he reached her, he hesitated for a moment before gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft, sincere. “I didn’t mean to make you feel this way. I just…lost myself somewhere along the way. But I don’t want you to think you’re not enough. Because you are, Prairie. You always have been.”
Prairie looked up at him, searching his eyes for the truth. She saw the regret there, the remorse, but it didn’t erase the months of neglect, the pain she had endured in silence. Still, it was something—a crack in the armor he had built around himself.
“I don’t know if that’s enough anymore,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with emotion. “But I guess it’s a start.”
Glenn nodded, but there was something in his eyes—something distant, almost resigned. He pulled her into a tentative embrace, holding her close as if afraid she might shatter in his arms. Prairie leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, but the connection felt hollow, like he was going through the motions.
As they stood there in the quiet of their living room, the weight of their unspoken truths hanging in the air, Glenn’s gaze drifted over her shoulder to the window. His eyes glazed over, lost in thought, and Prairie could sense the distance growing between them, even in his embrace. It was like he was already somewhere else, thinking of a life beyond her, beyond them.
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him, hoping to find something—anything—that would tell her he was still there, still with her. But the softness in his eyes had been replaced by a far-off look, as if he was no longer present in the moment, no longer holding onto what they had.
“Glenn,” she whispered, trying to bring him back to her, to pull him out of whatever place his mind had wandered to. “What are you thinking?”
He blinked, his expression momentarily clouded with guilt before he forced a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Just…thinking.”
Prairie felt her heart sink as she watched him retreat into himself again, that same emptiness creeping back into his gaze. She wanted to ask him more, to pry open the door he was closing on her, but something in his demeanor warned her against it.
They stood there, locked in a fragile embrace, but Prairie couldn’t shake the feeling that Glenn had already let go, that he was slipping away from her, one thought at a time. And as the silence stretched on, she realized with a cold, sinking dread that she might be holding onto a man who had already fallen out of love with her.
“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” Prairie whispered, more to herself than to him, trying to believe it. But deep down, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing fear that tomorrow might only bring more distance, more silence, until there was nothing left of what they once were.
Glenn didn’t respond, just held her a little tighter, as if that could somehow make up for the growing chasm between them. But as Prairie closed her eyes, the emptiness in his embrace was impossible to ignore.
© reddragonfly
#FallingOutOfLove #LettingGo #GlennxPrairie
The silence between them was thick, suffocating. Prairie couldn’t take it anymore. She set the mug down on the coffee table with a soft clink, gathering whatever courage she could find.
“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
Glenn paused, the clattering of dishes stopping as he turned his head slightly to listen, but he didn’t turn around. He kept his hands in the soapy water, as if the task before him was more important than what she was saying.
“I didn’t hate myself every second back then,” Prairie continued, her words spilling out faster now that she had started. “There was a time when I believed…I was something. I don’t know what exactly happened, but it’s like my mind and body got used to your compliments, to the way you used to look at me.”
Glenn didn’t respond, but Prairie could see his shoulders tense. She knew he was listening, even if he didn’t want to.
“And now that you’ve grown tired of them—of me—my mind’s convinced itself that I’m undesirable,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s like…I feel it. The inattention, the kisses you’ve stopped giving, the disappointment you try to hide, but I see it, Glenn. I know it, down to my bones. And now, even I’ve started to question my worth.”
Glenn sighed, finally turning off the faucet. He wiped his hands on a dish towel before turning to face her, his expression conflicted. He didn’t move from his spot in the kitchen, though, keeping a distance between them that felt like a chasm.
“You’re overthinking this, Prairie,” he said, his tone neutral, almost tired. “You’re still…you. I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s not about you.”
Prairie shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “But it is about me, Glenn. I can feel it every time you look at me like I’m a burden, every time you avoid touching me like you used to. I know I’ve changed, but so have you. And it’s killing me.”
Glenn looked down at the floor, his jaw tightening. He didn’t have an answer for her, didn’t know what to say to make it better. He felt the weight of her words, the truth in them, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not out loud.
“Prairie,” he began, but she cut him off, standing up from the couch with a sudden burst of energy.
“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Don’t tell me it’s all in my head. I know what I feel, and I know what’s happening between us. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Glenn swallowed hard, feeling a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He hadn’t realized how much his indifference had affected her, hadn’t wanted to see the damage he was causing. He walked over to her, slowly, like he was approaching a wounded animal. When he reached her, he hesitated for a moment before gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft, sincere. “I didn’t mean to make you feel this way. I just…lost myself somewhere along the way. But I don’t want you to think you’re not enough. Because you are, Prairie. You always have been.”
Prairie looked up at him, searching his eyes for the truth. She saw the regret there, the remorse, but it didn’t erase the months of neglect, the pain she had endured in silence. Still, it was something—a crack in the armor he had built around himself.
“I don’t know if that’s enough anymore,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with emotion. “But I guess it’s a start.”
Glenn nodded, but there was something in his eyes—something distant, almost resigned. He pulled her into a tentative embrace, holding her close as if afraid she might shatter in his arms. Prairie leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, but the connection felt hollow, like he was going through the motions.
As they stood there in the quiet of their living room, the weight of their unspoken truths hanging in the air, Glenn’s gaze drifted over her shoulder to the window. His eyes glazed over, lost in thought, and Prairie could sense the distance growing between them, even in his embrace. It was like he was already somewhere else, thinking of a life beyond her, beyond them.
She pulled back slightly, looking up at him, hoping to find something—anything—that would tell her he was still there, still with her. But the softness in his eyes had been replaced by a far-off look, as if he was no longer present in the moment, no longer holding onto what they had.
“Glenn,” she whispered, trying to bring him back to her, to pull him out of whatever place his mind had wandered to. “What are you thinking?”
He blinked, his expression momentarily clouded with guilt before he forced a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “Just…thinking.”
Prairie felt her heart sink as she watched him retreat into himself again, that same emptiness creeping back into his gaze. She wanted to ask him more, to pry open the door he was closing on her, but something in his demeanor warned her against it.
They stood there, locked in a fragile embrace, but Prairie couldn’t shake the feeling that Glenn had already let go, that he was slipping away from her, one thought at a time. And as the silence stretched on, she realized with a cold, sinking dread that she might be holding onto a man who had already fallen out of love with her.
“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” Prairie whispered, more to herself than to him, trying to believe it. But deep down, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing fear that tomorrow might only bring more distance, more silence, until there was nothing left of what they once were.
Glenn didn’t respond, just held her a little tighter, as if that could somehow make up for the growing chasm between them. But as Prairie closed her eyes, the emptiness in his embrace was impossible to ignore.
© reddragonfly
#FallingOutOfLove #LettingGo #GlennxPrairie
