Monday, February 20, 2006

Gestures

An ancient blog post under Writing.
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As he opens the door he offers her a flower he kept hidden in his sleeve. While he speaks he spreads his hands at the vastness of the sky, and she laughs and nods at the memory.

She speaks with her back to him while she clears a pencil can for the flower. He banks his hand from side to side before warmly embracing her from behind.

Her body stiffens.

He steps backwards, and understands.

He sits on her bed as she discourses to her dresser mirror. In the reflection his eyes are blank, as if his being had been stolen away. He sits stunned on her bed for a time, rearranging his thoughts to make them agree with him. How could something done so far away hurt him so badly?

She tries to speak, but he cannot hear her through the closing door. To him the world is joyless and calculated, and grey from pole to pole.

That's all there is, there isn't any more.
© Desi Quintans, 2002 – 2016.