witty-remark's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Leda and the Swan The best thing he did for me was take me to Venice. We lost our way somewhere between the winding, narrow streets behind the thin, colorful homes and shops and found ourselves wedged between two brick walls so tight, we had to hunch our shoulders, walking single-file, to slip out. We got caught in a thunderstorm that made the water rise to the lip of the city and spill over. The doors of homes slammed shut and the steps leading to them became submerged. The entire city was barren in minutes. It happens at night, in dark alleyways. When you�re drunk and stumbling, and approached by a stranger. Not someone you�re in a relationship with. Someone who once cried because they couldn�t believe how anyone could hurt you. Someone who swept your hair away to blow eyelashes off your cheek. Someone who, in this same fucking bed, clasped your hand and said they want a wife like you. It shouldn�t have happened in this bed. It should have happened between those two brick walls. The ones we had to hunch our shoulders and walk single-file to slip out of. Or it shouldn�t have happened at all. 5:50 p.m. - Thursday, Apr. 18, 2013 |
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