Give a little bit
She appeared in his life abruptly and excitedly.
One minute he was sitting alone in the loud night, the next she had sprung from a sea of faces and was there, yelling in his ear over the music,
"I like your shirt!"
She exclaimed with bright, wide eyes. The simple burst of confidence spurred on by alcohol sparked a conversation that carried on for hours. She listened to everything he said and nodded excitedly. She shared intimate memories and details of her all too thrilling life.
She made him feel as though she had something he wanted to be a part of, endless days of happiness and spontaneity, with something new and fresh always around the corner. She didn't even seem to mind his hand resting on her thigh, or his arm around her shoulder.
But in retrospect, she showed no reaction either, and perhaps that was the first sign.
When the return of the lights signalled the end of the evening, they rose and she said goodbye before flouncing away, leaving him outside, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he had no way of contacting this girl who had allowed him a brief glimpse into her life.
But technology is both a terrific and terrible thing, and thanks to a friend he began his pursuit.
They met again a few times before he realised he had no more possession of her and knew her no better than on that noisy, dimly-lit night.
He began to become slightly more desperate as he realised more and more that she was just a smile, just a laugh, just a twinkling eye, not a tangible girl to be held in anyone's arms.
Eventually intoxication caused him to boldly present her with an ultimatum- which all too shockingly she rejected.
And as she became less of herself and more of a dance, more of a personality, more of a celebration, he grew angrier.
Angry at her façade, angry at her interest, angry at his misinterpretations, angry at his loneliness.
And so he tore off into the night, leaving the broken girl to attempt to put herself back together when daylight finally arrived.
One minute he was sitting alone in the loud night, the next she had sprung from a sea of faces and was there, yelling in his ear over the music,
"I like your shirt!"
She exclaimed with bright, wide eyes. The simple burst of confidence spurred on by alcohol sparked a conversation that carried on for hours. She listened to everything he said and nodded excitedly. She shared intimate memories and details of her all too thrilling life.
She made him feel as though she had something he wanted to be a part of, endless days of happiness and spontaneity, with something new and fresh always around the corner. She didn't even seem to mind his hand resting on her thigh, or his arm around her shoulder.
But in retrospect, she showed no reaction either, and perhaps that was the first sign.
When the return of the lights signalled the end of the evening, they rose and she said goodbye before flouncing away, leaving him outside, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he had no way of contacting this girl who had allowed him a brief glimpse into her life.
But technology is both a terrific and terrible thing, and thanks to a friend he began his pursuit.
They met again a few times before he realised he had no more possession of her and knew her no better than on that noisy, dimly-lit night.
He began to become slightly more desperate as he realised more and more that she was just a smile, just a laugh, just a twinkling eye, not a tangible girl to be held in anyone's arms.
Eventually intoxication caused him to boldly present her with an ultimatum- which all too shockingly she rejected.
And as she became less of herself and more of a dance, more of a personality, more of a celebration, he grew angrier.
Angry at her façade, angry at her interest, angry at his misinterpretations, angry at his loneliness.
And so he tore off into the night, leaving the broken girl to attempt to put herself back together when daylight finally arrived.
Comments
Play 10thDoM this Muse. Given what you've been writing, the Muse suits you at the moment.