"Friends, both the imaginary ones you build for yourself out of phrases taken from a living writer, or real ones from college, and relatives, despite all the waste of ceremony and fakery and the fact that out of an hour of conversation you may have only five minutes in which the old entente reappears, are the only real means for foreign ideas to enter your brain. "– Nicholas Baker
“Wait,” he said, stopping her right as she began to walk away. Her blood heated, as warm as the night summer air and she circled back around to see what he wanted. When she faced him, he kissed her long and hard and then said, “That’s all.”
Despite herself, she smiled, now slowly turning from him once again, the butterflies commencing their familiar dance within her stomach. Without realizing it, her hand traveled to her abdomen as though she could calm the chaos. She strode deliberately, not looking back, but feeling his eyes on her and she didn’t know how long she could endure these exits.
Later, she heard his voice as she lay in bed. The way he’d drawled the word, ‘wait’. The grin in his voice,but, too, the assurance. He knew that she would, knew that she’d stop, that she’d turn, that she was his.
And though she was, wasn’t that what this whole absence was about? Making him wonder, think perhaps she was her own first? But her melting betrayed her resolve when she saw him and his strong embrace brought her heart to its knees and she knew she had lost.
submitting at Write on Wednesday