It began how it ended... randomly, without explanation. One day he just showed up to see her. While she was wearing her ratty green bathrobe over her tee shirt and jeans. Then came subsequent weeks of steamed milk with nutmeg, of folk music and of poetry. Walt Whitman and Robert Frost, mainly. And the other part of herself, the part that had for so long laid dormant, began to emerge. Quietly at first, with reticence—then vociferously and uninhibited.
More than romance (which was largely absent) there was an image. An image of what life could be like. With someone else... other than him... other than the one who had come before him. Because in the end, he just wanted to mold her too. Just like the one who had come before.
So it ended one day. Randomly. Quietly. And then she was free to find the one who wanted all of her just as she was. Unmolded and honest.
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2 comments:
that ratty green bathrobe sounds pretty comfy, actually :).
i do love your writing. keep it coming.
Lovely. I'm hooked.
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