Destructive Dependence

"They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered" -- F. Scott Fitzgerald

It was quick and came about by their desperation for contact than anything else. They sought sanctuary in the cheap flattery given to them by the other. Their courtship was gaudy and inelegant, and insincerity tainted their every word.

An attachment did grow from this, however. Though false many of their sentiments were, the dependence for each other became consuming and soon, within the confines of their own walls and driven to by their own darkness, unrefined declarations of love were desperately whispered between sighs and breaths. They deemed it true love simply because they had nothing to compare it by, not that they would admit to it.

Here, they found a false sense of security, safety amidst their lies. The glass veneer did not move, it did not shake. They lived in pretense, though neither of them was aware.
This was their limbo --they suffered, yet they did not. They knew of their own place in the world, but did not know the place of the other. They convinced themselves that this was love -- and it was. A dark kind of love. For they knew not the other, not truely. But they knew that they were the same.