What's your favorite disguise? [/meta]
posted by letter shredder @ 11:59 a.m. on 1/20/2006
"Great art is about conflict and pain and guilt and longing and love disguised as sex and sex disguised as love..."
-- Lester Bangs, Almost Famous
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
The Stalk Her
This one is by Coy, one of his posts I never grow tired of reading (and I don't know why).
She sits still, as quiet as can be, book in hand. I look up as she turns the page. Her eyes already on me as though she knew that would get my attention. She calmly smiles, and I smile back. I close my book and walk towards the door. I stop at the door and glance back. She is gone.
As I approach my car, I hear the sound of gears shifting and the ratcheting of a bicycle chain. I turn in time to hear her whisper. I ask her to repeat it. But she continues on. I turn back towards the car. I see her reflection as she rides off. I turn to watch. She is gone.
As I sit down to dinner with my friends I hear the wind blow against the chimney. The resturaunt is packed with people hurrying through life, but in the distance I see her at the bar. She stares me cold in the eye. I excuse myself and walk over to her but get cut off by the hostess and a crowd of people. She is gone.
The taxi pulls up in front of my building. The sound of a siren can be heard in the distance and she is standing outside my door. I smile as I approach her. She does not smile back. Instead she pulls up her sleeves to show her torn wrists. Stained red. I rush to help but feel weak. The world begins fading out and then in with each beat of my heart. I reach my hands up to her as she reaches toward me. Her hands as mine. The damaged hands are mine not hers. As she stands over me a note drops from her pocket.
You should have loved me.
It may be the last line that caught me.