The Anatomy Of Three Words

Scene 1:

Just outside your door, I coughed once. Adjusted my collar; took a whiff of my underarm: expensive cologne charms. Knock. Knock. Knock. You opened the door with your hair tied in a bun, and that dark maroon dress. Was it a blue eyeliner? “Shall we leave?” You grabbed my arms.

Scene 2:

“Love is overrated,” you said as you took another sip from a glass of bloody mary. Stranger is playing songs on guitar, idle chatter around the bar, your fingers tracing my lines of destiny: whatever happened to old-school romance. “You are way too sad, but I guess melancholy has its own charm,” you asserted with a half-seductive smile. “Come dance,” you dragged me. You were drunk enough to fall in my arms.

Scene 3:

“This is it, then?” you tapped the edges of the table. Tear-stained mascara, the stench of rotten past, and few memories too precious to reveal: we burn them all. “Listen to me,” you lean forward. “Don’t ruin us by saying it.” I nodded, and you kissed my forehead. I gulped down cheap alcohol, and you packed your belongings. I watched you go with a lump in my throat: too weak to admit; too fragile to just leave.

-from the Honest Musing via Facebook