...and once again, but for the first time and sincerest of all, did I gently stand at the tip of the humid cold railing, clutching to it and peering at the viewpoint ahead.
I was already gone. I was already a part of an inevitable future, a redundant format.
All I could remember was the fleshy warm trembling lips of her mouth, speaking only into myself. Those big shimmering sweet eyes and soft tender skin, that of which falls between milky white and wheat.
I didn't want to though. I was a man with little words and much dreams. I had a different world of mine, one of which never seemed to ever intertwine with hers, never to poke hers sideways along. I knew I had myself already lost in place. I held my breath and pressed my mouth silent, swaying occasionally sideways for stagnant salute. I knew I couldn't speak, talk or stay still.
It was all about none. I fixed my hair when it fell across the tip of my steady black eyeglasses and returned my hands to where they belonged back in front of me, on the white sheets of the round proud table, separated by the porcelain empty plate. I dragged my fingers along the forming marks of the sheet and up along the neck of the glass aside. Nobody was to know of the table throwing, chair breaking riots within me. I sit straight.
Halfway through the night, halfway through the well-planned laughter and the dusty hand shakes, halfway through the false dreams and the bright chandelier lights, it all came to an end. I forced an acceptable cough and smiled my way out. I pushed my wooden seat backwards and retreated from all wordy ornaments and tardy cloaks. I just stepped away from all the over-shrunk meals and ostentatious cigar puffing. Most importantly, I stepped away from all her images in my head. I tried to.
My pace grew out of rhythm and frighteningly loud. I wanted to run away from all the memories, from all the dead expectations, from her.
I knew so well that my mind shall be imprisoned by her, by her heart, by her smile, her dimple, her eyes, her hair, her everything. I knew that if I kiss her, I will never live a free man again. My heart will no longer romp. My eyes will never see. As I stepped closer to her, my pain grew larger as my pulse ran closer to her. I pouted my face more determined, more in control. I clutched my fists even harder and closer to myself. I fiercely gazed into her tender looks, into her eyes, trying to break whatever charm she had on me. However, little I knew that she only grew more afraid, more in love. I let go of my fingers opened and raised my palm up to her chin, to her cheeks and down to her neck. She trembled weaker than before as I approached her lips and silenced her scared load of noisy whiff of air. And I kissed her some more.
I was already gone. I was already a part of an inevitable future, a redundant format.
All I could remember was the fleshy warm trembling lips of her mouth, speaking only into myself. Those big shimmering sweet eyes and soft tender skin, that of which falls between milky white and wheat.
I didn't want to though. I was a man with little words and much dreams. I had a different world of mine, one of which never seemed to ever intertwine with hers, never to poke hers sideways along. I knew I had myself already lost in place. I held my breath and pressed my mouth silent, swaying occasionally sideways for stagnant salute. I knew I couldn't speak, talk or stay still.
It was all about none. I fixed my hair when it fell across the tip of my steady black eyeglasses and returned my hands to where they belonged back in front of me, on the white sheets of the round proud table, separated by the porcelain empty plate. I dragged my fingers along the forming marks of the sheet and up along the neck of the glass aside. Nobody was to know of the table throwing, chair breaking riots within me. I sit straight.
Halfway through the night, halfway through the well-planned laughter and the dusty hand shakes, halfway through the false dreams and the bright chandelier lights, it all came to an end. I forced an acceptable cough and smiled my way out. I pushed my wooden seat backwards and retreated from all wordy ornaments and tardy cloaks. I just stepped away from all the over-shrunk meals and ostentatious cigar puffing. Most importantly, I stepped away from all her images in my head. I tried to.
My pace grew out of rhythm and frighteningly loud. I wanted to run away from all the memories, from all the dead expectations, from her.
I knew so well that my mind shall be imprisoned by her, by her heart, by her smile, her dimple, her eyes, her hair, her everything. I knew that if I kiss her, I will never live a free man again. My heart will no longer romp. My eyes will never see. As I stepped closer to her, my pain grew larger as my pulse ran closer to her. I pouted my face more determined, more in control. I clutched my fists even harder and closer to myself. I fiercely gazed into her tender looks, into her eyes, trying to break whatever charm she had on me. However, little I knew that she only grew more afraid, more in love. I let go of my fingers opened and raised my palm up to her chin, to her cheeks and down to her neck. She trembled weaker than before as I approached her lips and silenced her scared load of noisy whiff of air. And I kissed her some more.
Her lips. Her back. Her wrist. Her golden wisps. Her everything.
I began to run away from the overwhelming images. All the other protocols were flamboyant.
I broke away from the bland chats and glamorous designs. I rushed down the circular stairs with my right hand sliding just above the railing where her hand might have touched. I rushed away fast towards the wide opened front terrace. I managed the final couple of steps to the cold load of dark breeze outside. Across the portraying images of her, I lifted my sight where she seemed to be. There she was. Dressed in caramel white. Next to him and the little girl.
Right then, I knew I was within and without the life she had stolen from me.
And she turned my way.
I began to run away from the overwhelming images. All the other protocols were flamboyant.
I broke away from the bland chats and glamorous designs. I rushed down the circular stairs with my right hand sliding just above the railing where her hand might have touched. I rushed away fast towards the wide opened front terrace. I managed the final couple of steps to the cold load of dark breeze outside. Across the portraying images of her, I lifted my sight where she seemed to be. There she was. Dressed in caramel white. Next to him and the little girl.
Right then, I knew I was within and without the life she had stolen from me.
And she turned my way.
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