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After all…

He had a tendency of being wrong. He knew that. It wasn’t something that he was ashamed of. After all, he knew she had plenty of moments of her own.

It was hard for her to consider. She always bundled it all up. Inside. After all, the only time she had ever let it go before landed her in heartbreak. She didn’t even know how to unlock the deadbolt. She was glued. Paralyzed to the chair. She rubbed another tear on the arm.

His heart wrenched on the floor. In his cold wet seat next to the keys that had no use. After all, how do you break the chain, without breaking the trust. He knew she had to draw it from left to right, and let it drop against the door frame.

She tried to imagine the sound of the deadbolt sliding in it’s chamber. She prayed the click of it didn’t spiral her into a panic attack. But her feet still wouldn’t reach to the ground. The floor was just too cold. The walk back across the room would be unbearable.

It was cold, and his shoes were wet. He curled his toes trying to move some blood around. The way he did on cold nights in bed when she wrapped her arms around him. When he would dream so deep he couldn’t collect himself after awaking. Its how he knew. But he hoped. He hoped as loud as he silently could.

Endnote: For the continuation, read Two sides…

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Posted by on February 6, 2011 in blocks..., life, love, Uncategorized

 

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stumblin in love…

It wasn’t her fault. Not her fault at all, even though she did crank the radio as they parked. It was his driving that caught the corner of the parked volvo. However, It could have been the vendor on the corner that caught his eye. The 3 feet of snow that fell the previous 2 days surely didn’t help.

Regardless of the run in, they shared fault in ignoring little problems. Little problems that lead to other little problems. The half dragging bumper was just the catalyst.

She ran up the stairs to the apartment. He had never seen her slam the door so hard. And her speed to twist the deadbolt behind her pierced him. She latched the chain. He sank against the wall. Muddy puddles from snow-covered boots soaked his seat on the floor.

A tear welled in her eye. She fought it back with a hard, dry swallow.

He could hear her stomp across the room and open the window to the fire escape. He imagined her curled up, hugging her knees on the small chair in the corner of the room.

She rubbed her tear off on the arm. It was not the most comfortable chair. She didn’t even like it that much, but the cool air from the open window often brought her to it. It was painfully heavy though, and to get rid of it would only add to the scratches in the narrow hall.

He picked at the chipped paint. What now, he thought, what now…

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after all…

~Credit where credit is due, listened to this cover by Steve Means, and caught wind to write this up… Thanks my man…

 
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Posted by on February 5, 2011 in beginning of a story..., blocks..., life, love

 

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