Dated: January 14th, 2013
Medium: MSWord, Blank Page
When I step outside I occasionally catch the scent on the breeze. I reek of her. No surprise. She’s very touchy-feely. I don’t hate the attention, just the circumstances. Any normal man is how I’d like to start this next bit but just what is normal really? I’m certainly not. That much is for certain. But this isn’t about me. Not so much in the most direct of senses. This is about her. This is about him. This is about the inbetween and all that’s left trapped within it.
The hugs, the hand-holding, the dancing, the talk; I hate it all. She’s beautiful. She’s too good. She’s unique. She’s special. She’s married. And that’s where it all hits the bricks. Where was all this when she was still available. Where was all this when it could’ve actual made a difference. I won’t end with question marks because I already know the answers. I know what this is, or at least have convinced myself of nothing less.