I always thought that she was beautiful. In a pinched, strained sort of way. Like something was holding her back, gnawing at her insides.
Now I know. I know because sometimes, I feel it, too.
Atleast my cruel mirror doesn’t talk back to me. Instead, I bear my pain in sapphire silence.
My poem, “Snow White’s Stepmother,” is now in Spudgun Magazine. You can read it here (see pages 30 and 31).
*Poison Cup by M. Ward.
You meet a stranger for coffee. It’s not a date.
Coffee leads to dinner.
Dinner leads to Saturday night plans.
Saturday night leads to Sunday morning.
And a few more meetings.
And then, you say your goodbyes. You fly off to another country. A month later, he will be gone too.
There are six months to kill.
There are no promises made. No commitments. Zilch expectations.
But you guys keep in touch. Talk often (He doesn’t want you for a pen pal). Skype for hours and stare at each other’s faces.
Then he says something and messes up. Makes you angry (and breaks your heart). You slip up just to prove a point (and end up hurting him).
Then you guys become strangers. Formal and superficial.
You miss him. But you seal your lips (and try and seal your heart too).
There are four more months to kill.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Two of my (love) poems, “In Transit” and “Respectable,” are in the February issue of Red River Review (To read, click on February 2012 issue, and check out #73 and #78).
Filed under anecdote, poetry