Life is not scripted.
We forget this, and also that others are ensconced in their own feelings and thoughts -and can’t hear and feel our own. In pain inside, we say something to convey our discomfort. Then, we are surprised at a negative reaction.
So many times two people just need to hear love, but speak hate and receive it back. Feeling dejected, they further barrier themselves against affection till all that’s apparent is their horse-chestnut shell that gives you foot slivers in the grass.
Speak to me tenderly of intimate things, in your soft, sweet voice I hear most of the time.
I’ll show sincere expression praising your wit, with eyes admitting contrary thoughts.
Tell me what I think, my darling. Trust my tenuous sincerity.
I love you for who you are, in my mind.
At the time we meet a person, we have caught him mid-story -perhaps on page 322, paragraph 5. He has read all that came before because it is his life, but you have not. You are only looking at that page, and mentally writing your own thoughts entirely for pages 1-321. You’ve even supplied your own prologue, prequels, and alternate series set in the same world.
I recommend this approach for someone who will likely take advantage of you. You may be three hundred pages in; but know, from other stories of scowling street stalkers, that caution would be wise.
That aside, let’s remember that a new person is a new chance for both in the encounter. He and we are perusing people, and the future has not been written yet.
What form are the words that leave your mouth?
Do you sour space, airing yesterday’s spoiled mistakes?
Does your listener flinch from flinty shards, falling as vengeful missiles?
Or, are you breathing delicacies that float gently, lightly glinting of sunshine?
Are your lips forming love like a bubble-blower sending happiness aloft?