Monday, October 10, 2016

excerpts from a book i'll never write - three.

and quietly, she'll slip away from you.

you'll lose her in the silent moments.  the ones where you don't even realize she's not there.  the ones where you think you haven't heard her voice in too long.

you'll lose her when you're casting your spell on some other unsuspecting lover.  when you realize she's not as witty, as interesting, as smart.  when you realize her laugh will never be ingrained upon your memory - she doesn't throw her head back, laugh from her belly.

you'll realize one day what a disappointment you turned out to be for her.  she gave you all her eggs.  placed them in your basket without question, without hesitation, without any ulterior motives.  you'll miss the sparkle in her eye when you would pick her up off her doorstep or you would sing to her in the car or you would push her up against the wall and steal her breath away.  you stopped doing those things so long ago.

some other guy will look at her like she is some endless fascination, another wonder of the world.  some other guy will speak to her about poetry and life and hope and conquering fear.  some other guy will take her to italy, will beg her to teach him french, will take her to her first symphony, so she can finally hear the strings she loves so much.  and he will build a life with her.  a piece of land, horses and dogs and cows, a lemon tree, rosemary bushes, the scent of lavender, sunlight streaming in on wood floors, chip to her joanna, and so, so much more.

but she really wanted it to be you.

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