Crisp leaves of golden brown,
and autumn air,
greeted me as I stepped out of the taxi
to wait for him at his favorite deli.
He arrived moments later.
Beneath trendy sunglasses
and a veil of carefully collected confidence,
were the soft eyes of the first man
I would ever truly adore.
His sideways smirk, tales of trauma,
broken heart, and desire for meaning,
engulfed me in an intense entanglement
that is impossible to ignore.
Not every story is told in black or white,
and at times ours was written in vivid neon colors,
but mostly in grays beneath solemn moonlight.
Butterflies scattered within my chest,
yet over time,
his soft eyes hardened to ice.
Trying my best,
I poured what I thought was water
over the flames of attachment,
only to discover it was gasoline.
Months later, I did what I do best to heal,
and I wrote our story.
Yet I couldn't help but recoil
from the gazes of kind men in a new city.
From the first moment I had seen his eyes,
when he'd removed those sunglasses
to reveal fleeting vulnerability,
my fate was determined.
This man could have sent me to my grave,
and my ghost would have defended him.
I loved the good man,
whose laughter once lifted my spirits,
whose dreams I encouraged and ached for,
who stroked my hair as he revealed remorse
for the strained relationship with his father.
And I loved the bad man
who used and abused me like a drug,
who barely spoke my name,
or tended to my pain;
who left me to ponder a full moon alone,
weeping as I turned the keys to start my car.
In that moment I'd finally realized
he had nothing but apathy
for my very existence.
And as time slowly and painfully passed,
I continued to harbor love
for the good and bad parts of him,
unable to shake the memories
like I had before of the other men.
And to think, this all started
on a chilly fall morning
over something as simple
as bacon, egg, and cheese.
About the Creator
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions