They were walking in the park. They were holding hands. She was talking about something, some moment in her meaningless day that did not warrant conversation. He was faithfully acting like he cared while the Spring fragrances aroused him.
He thought about love. Was this love? Or was it the idea of being in love? Did it matter? A woman was holding his hand telling him forgettable details about her mundane life. She was not the woman of his dreams, but she was a woman who didn’t mind holding his hand on a beautifully scented night.
He decided one could never be sure about love. One could definitely not rely on word of mouth. He had spouted out ‘love you’ far too many times to believe in one’s voice. Actions were what mattered.
He took action. He grabbed his partner. He wrapped his arms around her. He passionately kissed her lips. He forced her against a nearby tree. His hand sneaked up her blouse. Her hands grasped his buttocks.
The embrace did not last, but it ended the talking.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment