I visit her every month, yet I was never been expected. I wait for an hour or two, either smelling the masculine scent of her room, or try to fix her laptop. her apartment remained of a teen-aged girl from that time. She had never stayed home enough to get bored from the wall paper, neither hanged a poster or a photograph on that wall, and she hates women.
"what are you doing here?" she asked while approaching to the laptop, not me.
"It's been a month"
"already?"
"it is exactly so"
I stopped wondering why I come for a long time. We know each other already very well that a conversation would not succeed. It collapses, just like her fragile strength. She grabbed my hand and guided me to the two wooden chairs near the window. The window view was not of an interest for me, but to her is a phenomenon. I loosen her hand as it was still holding tight unconsciously, and played my fingers over the veins of her wrist and palm. We listened to each other's breath and the panoramic noise of the city, yet each of us had a different view. When the sun rays were blocked from her face I looked away to the window. "It's going to rain" I said, and her lips interrupted my cheek from any expression. I stood up to leave and she stood with me, but she remained where she was as I was reaching the door.
I usually go downstairs very fast, but today apparently I revived all my senses. Thus when I arrived on the landing, I had a pause. I sat on a step, I couldn't move as if something was holding me. "Things" like a ball on your way or door handles are better in holding a person back than people. I haven't been caught before by any of those things, except of that landing in the mid of the staircase. A sound fractured my loose thoughts. She was crying. I listened to her, and my eyes were tearing when I heard the sound of heels coming closer to the door. I ran down quickly, her heels were pounding on my heart as I was rushing out to the street. I reached the nearest alley and hid in it until she had gone.
I opened my umbrella and walked to my district.
"what are you doing here?" she asked while approaching to the laptop, not me.
"It's been a month"
"already?"
"it is exactly so"
I stopped wondering why I come for a long time. We know each other already very well that a conversation would not succeed. It collapses, just like her fragile strength. She grabbed my hand and guided me to the two wooden chairs near the window. The window view was not of an interest for me, but to her is a phenomenon. I loosen her hand as it was still holding tight unconsciously, and played my fingers over the veins of her wrist and palm. We listened to each other's breath and the panoramic noise of the city, yet each of us had a different view. When the sun rays were blocked from her face I looked away to the window. "It's going to rain" I said, and her lips interrupted my cheek from any expression. I stood up to leave and she stood with me, but she remained where she was as I was reaching the door.
I usually go downstairs very fast, but today apparently I revived all my senses. Thus when I arrived on the landing, I had a pause. I sat on a step, I couldn't move as if something was holding me. "Things" like a ball on your way or door handles are better in holding a person back than people. I haven't been caught before by any of those things, except of that landing in the mid of the staircase. A sound fractured my loose thoughts. She was crying. I listened to her, and my eyes were tearing when I heard the sound of heels coming closer to the door. I ran down quickly, her heels were pounding on my heart as I was rushing out to the street. I reached the nearest alley and hid in it until she had gone.
I opened my umbrella and walked to my district.
2 comments:
I had to come up with the relation,
a son and a mom
bond with all the damage still can’t be broken
last part, the "things" theory
the heel heart
felt like a realization
and I have to deny, to state the fact that it can happen without a blood line bond.
and the things theory ya someday, explains that she's not his mother.
no reason what so ever..except for a door handle.
tara I didn't put this in mind while writing, I was rather sleepy and tired but I had a great urge to write. and that what came up. so I am reading it as if someone else wrote it.
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