There are some that say that love is artificial. That love is for fools, for those seeking pain. There are those who think that love is all you need, that love keeps us safe, that without love, we are nothing. And then, there are those, who don’t think about love. They don’t force it to happen, or force it to stop. Love is like a water coloured painting, countless colours splashed onto a canvas, blending and swirling together, into a final product of mixed up shapes, varying sizes. Blue paint creeping gently into the yellow, mixing into it, making a green.
Bree Van De Kamp brushed her ruby hair, awaiting for that knock on her front door. When she heard it, her blue heart fluttered, a smile played on her lips. She calmly walked to the door. She said a thousand times she didn’t have to knock, but every day she did, and every day Bree couldn’t wait to hear it. When she swung it open…no, no, she opened it calmly, cooly…Lynette Scavo stood, blonde hair slightly tossed, the nippy breeze melted into a warm blanket. Bree couldn’t put words to it, but her whole world softened to see Lynette’s silly smile.
Bree took Lynette’s hand into hers and lead her inside. Closing the door behind her, Lynette heard her yellow heart pumping hard into her ribs. She felt herself being taken in by Bree, she felt Bree’s eyes touching her. Lynette looked at the floor, at the coat rack, and finally up at Bree. They stood, locked, inside this pristine house, for just a moment. Finally, Lynette’s arms wrapped around Bree’s waist, her shoulder’s protected under Bree’s, this hug, this touch.
They could have been anyone they wanted. An older sister mending her younger sibling’s heart, promising each other the end would work out fine. They could have been two lovers embracing in an airport, having been separated for months. The busy business people and families on vacations buzzing by, but nothing mattered, only that they were beside each other again. They could be actors backstage after closing night, they could be mother and daughter. They could be saying hello, saying goodbye. Lynette ran her fingers up and down Bree’s arm, gently, memorizing they way she felt. They could be any two people in the whole world.
These afternoons came frequently, secretly, two suburban housewives slinking into each other’s lives, stealing away each other’s loneliness. Lynette remembered Bree’s breathy voice, not but a week ago. “You make me unafraid,” she had whispered. “You make me so safe.” Lynette went home every night, to her life with her children and kids. But her neighbour’s voice swept through her mind, filling up any silence, “You make me so safe.”
And it was true. Bree didn’t know that something so dangerous could make her so secure. She was frozen before, cold, and now she was playing with fire; hazardous, sure, but it still warmed her. She felt Lynette around her, beside her, above her, making her life softer. Thawing her out.
They sat on Bree’s coach. Bree leaned over and kissed her flaxen friend, who kissed her back. Bree felt her finger’s on her cheek, and their lips shared a smile, kisses and a smile. Their hearts blended together again, blue and yellow water colours, uniting. A shared green heart between the two.
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