He let me use the space for my own pleasures while he was away and I vowed to take full advantage of it do what I’ve always wanted to do: write. But where to start? How many times has the author gone to the edge, pen in hand and nothing to write? Like an eager lover that can’t satisfy out of pure fear of failure? But that’s what he told himself was the reason for being here in the first place. After he got off the road he was empty and tired and deflated and left with nothing to do but wait. And write. Ah but here it was again. Nothing to write. So I’ll go on wordless, endlessly seeking expression in a dream. 



God was she lovely. He remembered the way he woke up and saw her earrings on the bedside table like she owned the place. That’s what he loved about her. She could walk into a room and instantly people would be asking where she’d been. Complete strangers! What a woman. She loved him so much that he could never feel more alone with her and without her. It hurt everything in him when she walked by and flipped her hair to one side. She was beautiful like a present torn open as a child. Her secrets were never revealed to him even after so many years. Always a mystery that one was. That’s what he needed wasn’t it? She felt him so hard and he just ran away. But I digress. 

His bus came just as he was about to finish his lunch and he had to leave it half eaten so he could run and board for the mountains. She would be meeting him but he didn’t know it. He thought he was running away. Thought he was so f’ing clever but I think now that she knew all along. What a woman!

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