Sitting on the picnic tables or “smoking area,” along came
Adam. “Fancy meeting you here again,”
Eve said, in her head. But all she
managed to say was “are you new?” and “Welcome.” Adam’s disguise this time was
rail thin and he had nerdy 80’s glasses, you know the big round ones. His forehead wrinkled just the same so she
said “hello,” in her off Standish way. The way she knew she was supposed in his
presence. She walked in and walked out
of the meeting quite conspicuously, avoiding the confrontation of her very own
heart melting years off of pain…or should I say pain melted off the years when
she saw him. He had the build but not
the posture of Adam that is how she knew it was him, in disguise.
This day was a shallow day and dreary and she sat alone and
pondered would there be sunshine again?
Would her unravel and dismay bring her so far into this labyrinth of
love that should would be trapped there and incessantly return to his grasp. For would it be the next tomorrow or the
next, when he would come around to see her butterfly dance, coming from the
roundabout agony of defeat. Yet never of
course when we wish it as a child, that fairy Lee God father seems to stub his
toe while rounding out the gifted ones.
She shallows and appears to side glance him again, just as
she had with the old man Jack, for now she knows the soul inhabits for all and
all true north it is we roundabout. She
shredded the evidence, because what is conquest if it is not respected and
consecrated by both parties, assumedly the one Eve loved. Assumedly the one Eve loved was even still on
a walk about, drifting aimlessly through the mire…head straight on whispering
her digits to stop resounding in his mind.
Or the chance on fate he chose not to take, for this century was the
time.
For it was the last times…and they both knew. And they were to stay away, and so she knew
on this day that the 80’s dressed frail thin man, was there to check on
her. And that is why should could not
stay in the present. She had to go
back…and find seclusion…fare she well should that bottle tipped sideways. Should it?
Or a knife she pleads to pierce her veins. Not dramatically but feeling as such a
necessity to cry.
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