They shared a meal an evening and a glass of wine with conversation of pleasant things fond memories and she told him about when she was young and how she used to push her hair behind her ears before she became paranoid that this would make them stick out. He knew what she meant. Later when she was asleep curled up tight in the position of a child he stroked her face cloaked in beauty and played with her hair, pushing it behind her ears. Then he stopped. He didn’t want to be he couldn’t be he wasn’t ready to be a father.
Toi si belle, si bien-aimée Toi si libre, pourras-tu me libérer? Toi si pûre, être célèste Toi si douce, ma proper diésse Toi si **** de mon lit froid Toi si grande dans mon coeur Toi
What are you doing here? - I wanted to see a writer at work.
(So you came to watch me stare at empty spaces the empty promises I keep breaking to myself. So many days hidden in a blank page until I run away again hoping and pretending I’ll find myself somewhere to fill a page. So…)
- What am I doing here? - You wanted to be a writer at work.