A drabble is a piece of fiction constrained to exactly one-hundred words. I use these short works to hone my brevity.
At times his mood turns fey, and spirals downward like a whirlpool.
To brave it head-on would spell disaster.
Better to approach with an oblique angle, to ride the currents around and inward to the core of the matter.
Oh well, here goes nothing:
"Why do you want to run away?"
My hand traces spirals against his skin as I await an answer.
Waiting feels like freefall, despite laying on solid ground.
"I can't keep doing this to you," he cries.
We find ourselves back here again.
Playing out these same patterns, spiralling around in this cyclic dance.