It’s about time that I share some of my writing with the world.
Here is the beginning of a short story that I am creating. When I create, I allow my stories to write themselves. So if it is bad, then blame it on the story 🙂
And I welcome all comments.
He was the marrying type. I could tell that just by looking, in that very first instant. His head was down, but when he peeked up, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in his eyes. I loved seeing myself that way, through his eyes. Timidly, I looked away. By the time I looked back, he was gone. Was it a dream? I wondered to myself. Perhaps in my desperation I had fabricated this instance, this connection that I so longed for. Frustrated with my own delusions, I began to gather my books. Head bent in concentration, I was sure that it’d work like in the movies, and I’d look up to find him standing there. I took a breath, looked up, and found myself staring into his eyes once again. Until I closed my eyes tight and shook away my most recent hallucination. Books in hand, I left the room, that dingy, mustard-colored room that from then on would remind me of him.
I don’t consider myself to be the romantic type. I don’t cry when I watch sappy movies. I don’t even watch sappy movies. But that night, I imagined every detail of my first romantic evening with him. Imagining his smile made me smile. I conjured up his scent, the feel of his breath on the nape of my neck, the light snore that would escape from his nostrils as he slept. He was not perfection, I never imagined him to be.
I wanted his imperfection…