Work Text:
Lydia falls in love with the wrong people. That is the only wrong thing. No, there is more. She falls in love, but she does not have the courage to follow where love leads.
It should not be called courage. Surely sense is still worth something? She has a son, ten years old. Should she ask him to understand what she can't explain to herself?
Accepting Greg's kiss, her eyes close, her mouth opens. He smells of the wine they drank, when Lydia touches her nose to the spot behind his ear. Should she feel so good, kissing a man other than John? There is a sign, before love-making. Something in the eyes, the breath. How long has it been since John has done as much?
Greg's kiss recalls all those that have been misplaced. Susan's, before she fell silent. This place where they are trapped, it is no place to be happy. But Lydia finds hope in their small conversations, in Greg's music, in Susan's gentle sway. And yet--there is some marionette string, something fine and invisible, that holds her back.
She falls in love; yet, on the verge of some unstoppable motion, Lydia cannot make herself fall.