Perpetrator

I’m not what you would consider a heartbreaker.  Not a blonde bombshell, or a busty beauty who thrills the boys in a bikini.  I might pretend to the Grows-On-You kind of beauty that no one really recognizes at first glance but that’s on a good day, after a trip to Sephora.  The short of the story is, there were never scads of suitors beating down my door, and those that did generally didn’t stick around long enough to let me breathe like the fine wine I might have turned into.

That said, I have broken one heart and in spectacular fashion.

I started and stopped this piece a dozen times.  There are probably 3500 total words, but after awhile, I realized that the point was getting lost in the telling.  If you search around this blog enough, you’ll find longer bits of the story.  I know, after today’s effort, that this piece is a work in progress and will come forth in many different incarnations before I’m finished with it.  But the the day’s light is fading, and so is my resolve.  Please look, but with kind eyes, if you don’t mind.

 

I looked in those eyes, those green, glistening gems and saw the truth shimmering there.  I saw the promises he meant, the future that was etched, and the oath that would bind us both together.  Between us, the story flowed.  We matched, scar for scar, twin spirits in the dark, clasping hands. 

“Stay here,” he said.  “Stay here with me Jennifer.  Let me show you what it can be like.” 

With a grand light, he scoured corners, and gently eased open the door.  No screaming rages or sleepless nights stuttered his steps or caused pause.  I was me, and in whole, full force, unedited, explicit, and he gave of himself, the same. 

Horror stories and heathen past, I accepted to hear more.  Bruised and battered, he arranged himself at my feet, laying bare the man too tough for the world. 

I looked in those eyes, those green, glistening eyes and said my goodbyes and turned away.  I turned away from his plain and honest love and handed my ticket to the agent.