We courted one Spring when we were young, very young. It was hard, very hard and rough. I'm still too unsure to call it love. We fought often and she cried often and it was hard, very hard, so I left.
So I left.
I still see her, here and there, and often our social circles blend into one. At a home or event or garden party, here and there, several times a year. We are civil, she is kind. Her husband, he is very rich, very handsome, also kind.
Here and there I have mentioned our time together to a gentleman friend or two, or three, or four. I hate to admit, but she was, and of course still is, something of a prize. They ask about her nature and I say she was a gale. They ask about her scent and I say she was a wood. They ask about her kisses and I say she was a tornado. "That's it?" They say. "She was a breezy forest?" I can't help but to be brief, because I know they don't care about her kiss or her nature.
Quite distinctly I remember her skin. Every limb was pale and translucent and clean of marks, spots, dots, as though the Sun in all it's power had forever failed to mark her, as though a sweet cloud had shaded her for all her life. It was as though she were carved by an ancient Greek hand from marble sent from the moon, so smooth, so perfectly smooth. All over she was soft and curved, the perfect shape of woman, except in the small places where her bones shone through knobby and hard: her elbows, her ankles, her collar. Everywhere else perfectly supple, but small. Her belly had a small pucker of fat, like her cheeks and her thighs and her rear, and she roared when I touched it, but I loved it. At least I know I loved that.
I see her now, from time to time, at parties and homes and in town. She is still lovely, though less fierce, and she is happy. She seems happy. She seems happy to be with him. Still, I sometimes wonder if I couldn't have made her happier had I only stayed and tried.
Monday, August 22
Short Short Story
I'm being very bad about stories! I found an old one and will mess it up a little. That counts! Editing is an integral part of the writing process.