Hurried foot steps. Late.
Typical fall autumn evening.
Hot.
Top down.
Third. Kearny. Columbus. City Lights Bookstore. Stinky Rose.
Green. Union. Filbert. Greewich. Lombard.
Turn Left.
Taylor. Jones.
A man was coming down from the steep stairs.
Greetings.
Embraces.
Woman walked up the stairs.
With a slounchy worn Roots shoulder bag.
Man had not shaven.
He approached the woman and started to kiss.
He smiled warmly and she kissed him back.
He tasted like mouth wash.
He led her into his bedroom.
"Let's fuck" he said.
She felt his hard cock pressed against her.
It was time.
There she was undressed.
Her wrapped around dress.
She had recently discovered something ironic.
Had she been in his shoes, he been hers.
Had the situation been reversed.
She would be told by others to leave him.
"He's no good. He's married. With kids. He'd never leave his wife. You are waiting for something that would never happen. You must move on. You must leave him. You can do better. Find someone who's available and love you and can be with you, always. He's no good for you."
That would be the response she'd get from her friends.
That would be a common response to a woman who was waiting for a man to leave his family, his wife, so that they could live happily ever after.
Except the situation was the near exact opposite.
That realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
What if all along it was not she who was hurt but he? What if he had to endure and wait for her to feel some level of commitment and wanted to have a go at this? What if all along it was she who was being insensitive and demanding and unrealistic and all that?
You can't change the past.
That's what you couldn't do.
Nothing else mattered except for the sudden shift of a different type of thinking.
What if he was always there, what if he always loved her and what if he was waiting for her to see?
"I no longer needed antidepressant drugs. My midlife crisis is over." She laid her head on his chest after.
"You are too young to have a midlife crisis." He said.
"When will you have yours? When you are fifty?" She asked.
He did not answer.
That evening was short lived. He had to leave. She had to leave. Their worlds were calling for their return. That evening they embraced and she felt at home again in his arms, with him inside of her, and with him becoming one with her. That evening she was happy that he made a little of bit of him available to her. That evening she realized that not every story with a man and a woman, one married one not, would end up the same.
That was no one set of story, there was no one set of ending. In a world that people left one another, when people gave into lust but could not be more coward when it came to commitment, she knew she was neither. This world she created for herself took a different shape and path than the ordinary. This world believed in one thing and one thing only. And as cliche and as unappetizing it may be to others, this world was not a complicated one. A woman. A man.
Woman loved a man. He loved her back. She could not live without him. She needed him to nourish her soul. She wanted to be the one who would take care of him at his old age.
She took a break for two months. A break without him, without anyone else. She missed no one but she was empty inside without him in her life. She couldn't breath and she cried at the thought of losing him forever.
She realized that she never really needed to seek out things or make new friends.
The world was without meaning or purpose without him. Nothing else mattered.
So a new ending emerged.
She would tell him how she really felt about him. She would finally admit to him, and to herself, that none of this was an imaginary make believe fairy tale. She wanted to be with him, and take care of him. She wanted to be his. She was his. Now and forever.
Typical fall autumn evening.
Hot.
Top down.
Third. Kearny. Columbus. City Lights Bookstore. Stinky Rose.
Green. Union. Filbert. Greewich. Lombard.
Turn Left.
Taylor. Jones.
A man was coming down from the steep stairs.
Greetings.
Embraces.
Woman walked up the stairs.
With a slounchy worn Roots shoulder bag.
Man had not shaven.
He approached the woman and started to kiss.
He smiled warmly and she kissed him back.
He tasted like mouth wash.
He led her into his bedroom.
"Let's fuck" he said.
She felt his hard cock pressed against her.
It was time.
There she was undressed.
Her wrapped around dress.
She had recently discovered something ironic.
Had she been in his shoes, he been hers.
Had the situation been reversed.
She would be told by others to leave him.
"He's no good. He's married. With kids. He'd never leave his wife. You are waiting for something that would never happen. You must move on. You must leave him. You can do better. Find someone who's available and love you and can be with you, always. He's no good for you."
That would be the response she'd get from her friends.
That would be a common response to a woman who was waiting for a man to leave his family, his wife, so that they could live happily ever after.
Except the situation was the near exact opposite.
That realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
What if all along it was not she who was hurt but he? What if he had to endure and wait for her to feel some level of commitment and wanted to have a go at this? What if all along it was she who was being insensitive and demanding and unrealistic and all that?
You can't change the past.
That's what you couldn't do.
Nothing else mattered except for the sudden shift of a different type of thinking.
What if he was always there, what if he always loved her and what if he was waiting for her to see?
"I no longer needed antidepressant drugs. My midlife crisis is over." She laid her head on his chest after.
"You are too young to have a midlife crisis." He said.
"When will you have yours? When you are fifty?" She asked.
He did not answer.
That evening was short lived. He had to leave. She had to leave. Their worlds were calling for their return. That evening they embraced and she felt at home again in his arms, with him inside of her, and with him becoming one with her. That evening she was happy that he made a little of bit of him available to her. That evening she realized that not every story with a man and a woman, one married one not, would end up the same.
That was no one set of story, there was no one set of ending. In a world that people left one another, when people gave into lust but could not be more coward when it came to commitment, she knew she was neither. This world she created for herself took a different shape and path than the ordinary. This world believed in one thing and one thing only. And as cliche and as unappetizing it may be to others, this world was not a complicated one. A woman. A man.
Woman loved a man. He loved her back. She could not live without him. She needed him to nourish her soul. She wanted to be the one who would take care of him at his old age.
She took a break for two months. A break without him, without anyone else. She missed no one but she was empty inside without him in her life. She couldn't breath and she cried at the thought of losing him forever.
She realized that she never really needed to seek out things or make new friends.
The world was without meaning or purpose without him. Nothing else mattered.
So a new ending emerged.
She would tell him how she really felt about him. She would finally admit to him, and to herself, that none of this was an imaginary make believe fairy tale. She wanted to be with him, and take care of him. She wanted to be his. She was his. Now and forever.
No comments:
Post a Comment