Every story has two sides. And so does love…It was a love that required no words to express it, for it existed in everything as its source and therefore between things as its purpose. Love flourished in silence. Until the silence was broken.
The closer she would come to reaching the appropriate decibel and a plausible duration, the perfect balance of pitch and tone, a precise degree of backward head tilt and the occasional snort followed by an emergency “oops” and a graceful hand gesture covering her mouth just enough to display embarrassment but not regret, the more she would begin to believe her own laugh.
The gentleman’s perversion was only evident in his reading habits. No one knew him the way his books did. And that is clearly how he preferred it.
The night began with her scent, faint and distant. Then it surrounded me as I stood in its birthplace.
And they call us poor, Father, as if it were a curse.
She stood unaccompanied in the room of hushed conversations and snide laughter.
My entry for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday, hosted by Linda G. Hill.
