Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The Grass Is Green

You are my lover because...

You just did me pretty kind favor. I have never been shown a lot of kindness, so I appreciate whatever comes my way with the utmost sincerity. I could probably return the favor with sex, if you like. Just tap on my door at 3 am, tell me the grass is green, and I'll gladly be taken by the hand to your room. Or the courtyard. Wherever it is the kids are doing it these days. And in my fantasy, you'll push me down and not care what I get out of it. Then, in the days after, I'll see you around, only us knowing about our little tryst. Intercourse will have become something we have monopolized, only us having claim over it. At least, that's how I view it-- it becoming our own sacred act.

On the other hand, I call almost every handsome man I see lover. So often I've forgotten my true intentions. Is it out of kindness of habit? Either way, just don't read too much into it. Last thing I want is to be left alone again, and you can't be left alone without being left.

2 comments:

  1. I like the last paragraph of your piece. I think the contrast it has with the rest of the writing is really interesting and thought provoking. I especially like the line "last thing I want is to be left alone again, and you can't be left alone without being left."

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  2. I love the sincerity, brutal honesty in your paragraph. You really wrestle with this reality and mental fantasy between the narrator and yourself.

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