i am sitting at barnes and noble feeding off internet access and working. well, i am writing, or more accurately editing, and i am sure not many would call that working.
a young 20s couple sits close by, and i watch over the top of my computer screen as i write. she is nearly crawling on him drawn physically, and he seems almost oblivious leaning slightly away.
it is then i realize something i could not admit before: i have been this woman in every lover relationship i’ve had.
one was a perpetual begging for her to long for me; the other, i sent running anywhere except with me.
and what was my daughter to do with this woman for a father as she stumbled and flailed toward her own womanhood?
damn i think well damn as i continue to write resisting the urge to tell the young man won’t you please notice her, knowing as i do that if i did and if he did, the spell would snap, and freed she would leave him there, her seeking another aloof for her ache to be drawn physically once again.
[NOTE: Thanks to Peter Kay, for "this."]
[NOTE: Thanks to Peter Kay, for "this."]
No comments:
Post a Comment