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New York, New York, United States
"Life isn't divided into genres. It's a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction cowboy detective novel."

Monday, June 16, 2008


She believes she is in love with him. No, she knows she is in love with him. The dim morning light filters through the curtains and illuminates the dust particles swirling about his face. Oh, his face. Soft lips, sturdy jaw, eyes closed in determined sleep. Hands so powerful but now curled softly in relaxation. She slides a finger into his palm, relishing his warmth. Such intimacy in one's hands!

They met by chance. It was a lonely, stark night along a rural road. She was driving fast, too fast. Sobbing, swiping at her eyes, unsure of her direction and swerving in the road. A menacing patch of ice looms up in the distance. Did she head for it? The next moment, the car is spinning, and spinning. With terrifying slowness, the car turns over. Moments pass in darkness. She is alive, but so scared and hurt. Opening her eyes, she sees a pair of tennis shoes. A man's voice is calling out. The next moment, warm, strong hands are gently pulling her from the ruin of her vehicle. She is on the pavement, head cradled in the stranger's lap. She looks up to a smiling face. Well now, that was a bad tumble but you'll be just fine. She closes her eyes and breathes.

Inseparable since their....meeting, their's has been a physical love. The need to touch one another, to reassure of each other's presence is palpable. He holds her face in bed, she is shivery with the intimacy and eroticism of such a simple act. In public, he takes her hand and kisses it, pulls her close to him in a sudden desire to touch her fragile mouth. She is filled, filled, filled with love.

He likes to go running. Hours on end, the slapping of his shoes against pavement and dirt a comforting sound. Watching the morning sun spill its endless rays over the horizon. He rounds the bend of a desolate, rural road. Loons are soaring over the lake and the sight is beautiful to behold. He stops. Who is that there? Light hair, small frame. For a breathless moment, he believes it to be her. The woman turns and it is not her. He walks closer and sees tears are streaking her face in a heartbreaking symmetry. He is drawn. Miss? The woman turns away. She steps into the lake. Alarmed, he reaches to grab her wrist. It is cold, but he feels the pulse, thready but fast beneath the skin. She shudders and stops, one foot in the water. An eternity passes. He steps closer, puts his hands around her face.

--short story--

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