Crush

The thought wriggled its way free from the snare set for it and with its last remaining ounce of strength slipped quietly into the shadows and away from the view of inquisitive eyes so that its mortal wounds could bleed out. Hardly the most dignified death, but a death all the same.

My exhalation rattled. The little speech I had rehearsed for this very moment was on the tip of my tongue, only for it to swirl around a bit behind my sealed lips and vanish. The soft fingers I could feel creeping over my arm and shoulder did not belong to her. For a moment I forgot her and wished for another. I turned to who I thought was there in the hope of a soothing embrace, before realising my mistake. I recoiled.

“Babe!”

She continued to talk. God knows what she said; I don’t remember any of it. The garble of words washed over me. Then she stopped and I knew that I had to fill the cavernous silence with something; anything. One second, two seconds – three – four. And all I could see was those beautiful ice-blue eyes slowly welling with tears as the last glimmer of intent ebbed. She knew it too.

My voice, only a matter of moments ago, possessed the gravitas of a great actor from Hollywood’s Golden Age {take your pick}. Now stricken and enfeebled, I stammered through the lumps in my throat to silence.

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We lost something, babe. I don’t know when, where or how, but it’s gone and no amount of money spent on hotel rooms, champagne, strawberries, or whatever else you desire, is going to reclaim it. I’ve got my hands on your waist and I’ve never felt so distant from you.

Yes, we made plans to celebrate your promotion. I was going to take you to dinner that Saturday night, February 7, but history intervened. And while I was trying to order some of the ensuing chaos, you were out learning your craft in the capable hands of four masters.

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Her eyes pierced at my guilt as she filleted my soul away; every glance making the cut deeper. The slow growl and lonesome keyboard intro of Craig A. Pilkington’s Beryllium fills my ears. I also have two hearts.

It’s at moments like these I wish human mitosis was possible. One of me here, one of me – all of me – there, where I most earnestly desire to be. But it ain’t, so suck it up! It’s said that we suffer the demons to find angels. Well, the bestiary of Dis could spew forth and I wouldn’t suffer any of them, I’ve found two of my own.

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The cigarette dangled precariously from my lips before I set it alight. I dragged on it slowly, aloofly. As I mashed the butt into the ashtray, she stepped out onto the balcony with me. She didn’t say a word, nor was it required. She gripped the index and middle fingers of my right hand loosely, as a newborn might. Her damned eyes bore into me.

“I’m sorry. I – shouldn’t have.” She pecked me on the cheek, turned to collect her keys from the coffee table and her mint-green denim jacket from the back of the couch before proceeding to the door. “Thanks for trying. See you ‘round.”


Hold up a sec. You’re just gonna leave? Three years and all I get by way of goodbye is a limp “See you ‘round.”

Five minutes ago I gave up the fight for you, but not now. The mosaic of memories we created together in that time began to shift and shuffle in my mind. Silly moments where she’d put a smile on my face that lasted for days. I remember the tears, both of laughter and despair. Secret moments known only to us. The moments she took my breath away.

“Wait!”

All I could think about was that night three years ago when I was finally able to call her mine. We’d met the first time a year prior through a mutual friend. Then she might have only been a faded memory at the nightclub door, but I knew in those few moments, even then, she was it. Twelve months later, the struggle was worth the triumphal euphoria of lithe arms snaking over my shoulders and full lips pressed against mine. It all finally made sense.

I heard her pause on the other side of the door. For one dreadful moment, I wished she would push back through the door.

My phone goes off with a text.

“I’ll call you soon, I promise. I’ll be at Charley’s.”





So, once again my bed is empty. But this time it’s different. The photo frame at its side is also turned down.

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