She Travelled
As he pressed his body through hand print stained doors he caught the glance of a woman with loose braids hanging over her shoulders. The empty rivers that dressed his deep brown eyes compressed into a squint to examine the youthful sway of her hips. The cracked reminders of age on his face had showed more than he wanted, as did the victory of silver hairs and patches of sun-kissed scalp upon his head. In that brief moment of his obliviousness, the bookseller’s smile from behind the vestibule met his embarrassed vintage gaze. The curve of her lips incited a far away entrenched memory of a woman for whom his soul belonged to. Annie was her name and he had worshiped her with every vein and pore in his body…every pore.
Decades ago, they had lived their days in a house that was shadowed with the weeping leaves of palm trees. Chipped paint, creaking boards, broken Spanish tile and the rusting black gate that enclosed the dirt of their front yard had brought the neighborhood’s property value down, but he didn’t care and neither did she, for the house on 12th street had become their home.
He had quit his day job to dedicate mornings to her soft honey skin and naïve laughter, but after several months of life pumping frenziedly through the channels of their devotion and savings, the energy danced to its collapse. She had gone away from him to explore the bodies of other men in smoke filled hotel rooms and the hills of San Francisco. His heart had never shown love the same way he did for Annie. His existence wandered until he had found a dull-faced woman for whom he decided to settle for. And when this woman bore their first daughter, Annie was the name he had chosen, for her memory had never left his lips.
Author's Note: I'm sorry, this is an older story that I never showed anyone really. I am way too pooped to write, or even think. On a wonderful note, I just got hired for a tutoring position that pays $18 an hour. Life is beautiful.
Decades ago, they had lived their days in a house that was shadowed with the weeping leaves of palm trees. Chipped paint, creaking boards, broken Spanish tile and the rusting black gate that enclosed the dirt of their front yard had brought the neighborhood’s property value down, but he didn’t care and neither did she, for the house on 12th street had become their home.
He had quit his day job to dedicate mornings to her soft honey skin and naïve laughter, but after several months of life pumping frenziedly through the channels of their devotion and savings, the energy danced to its collapse. She had gone away from him to explore the bodies of other men in smoke filled hotel rooms and the hills of San Francisco. His heart had never shown love the same way he did for Annie. His existence wandered until he had found a dull-faced woman for whom he decided to settle for. And when this woman bore their first daughter, Annie was the name he had chosen, for her memory had never left his lips.
Author's Note: I'm sorry, this is an older story that I never showed anyone really. I am way too pooped to write, or even think. On a wonderful note, I just got hired for a tutoring position that pays $18 an hour. Life is beautiful.