Please do not steal or copy my work.
I put my work up here because, I hope that people actually read it and because, I got tired of having a lot of documents going unread in my files. So please, don't steal. Use your own creativity.
If you would like to comment- if you think its good or a complete failure, all opinions are welcome as long as they're respectful.
There was this moment I will never be able to let go of.
I had a customer that invited me every Sunday night. He offered
me a lovely dinner with porcelain plates cradling ever thing that was served:
soups, breads, steak, fresh salads from his garden. This one time, maybe it was
in February, which had been such a dreary and depressing time, the last Sunday night
of that month that I went over he had these delicate cookies. They were small. I
could fit one in the palm of my hand easily. They were shortbread, the purest
white and quality that I had ever seen. On the top there were roses painted on.
They looked like water color, absolutely breathe taking with such detail and light
coloring. My face had registered shock when I saw them on his tea plates which
morphed into sadness, I think. I almost cried. I still don’t know why.
He saw all that and got up from his seat across from me at
our little round table. He knelt down beside me and took my face between his
rough hands. They were large but, the way he held me, I had never in my life experienced
such tenderness from anyone. He looked into my eyes and said:
“When I saw those delicacies I thought of you. How fragile
you are. How depressingly lovely your features shine.” He voice spoke softly,
steady, sure.
He stood up, leaned down and kissed me gently on my lips. As
he pulled away his eyes did not break the line with mine, his lips were parted.
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