Two Words (Conversation Hearts)  

She speaks in sugar.

She knows he used to hear her, the rattle of jellybeans would never fail to lure him closer, cause him to linger, let her pretend that he was actually hers. 

She's not sure if he even listens anymore.

Since he's been back, she feels the need to know.  She has a theory, an idea that he's found what he craves elsewhere, so she sends a new message.  She builds a sort of wall, deciding to fill the dish with candy coated chocolate instead. 

She can't decide when he passes by without stopping if it's disappointment or indifference in his eyes. 

The thing is that it really boils down to two little words, after all; two words that have been hovering above them for years, looking for a safe place to land.

The two words are fairly simple - just one syllable each, actually.  The problem lies in the fact that though it should be easy, they both continue to make it difficult.  All they need are two words but instead they say too many or too few or worse. 

Sometimes they say nothing at all. 

The words were always there, caught up in a lingering glance, attached to a memory, fluttering in the wind one cold winter's night, crashing down onto the asphalt one warm spring evening.

When one day in particular rolls around, she summons her courage and decides to try again.  She's uneasy, so she uses a method that she knows is tried and true.

She sifts through bag after bag, choosing only the ones that bear the message she wants to send.  She pours the candy hearts, her heart, into the dish and waits.

There are two words on the tip of her tongue, shining in her eyes. There are two words ringing in her ears as he slowly stands and walks over.  Two words spill into his palm as he fills his hand with what she's offering.  He glances down and it would be impossible not to hear what she's saying, loud and clear.  Finally, he sees the same two little words he’s struggled to make her hear all along.

BE MINE.