“It’s the ones you have the highest hopes for, that hold the ability to do the most damage.”
Her light eyes sparkled as she prepared to explain.
“I knew a boy once.…at the time I thought he was the most intriguing being that I had ever encountered. He wasn’t the most attractive person that had ever pursued me, he wasn’t the richest, and to be honest – he wasn’t the funniest. But he had a way about him that made him hard to dismiss.”
“I used to tease him about his lack of rejections. No one denied him… if at first they weren’t interested – by the time he worked his “magic” (that was really no magic at all, just his organic charm) they had become victims without realizing they were a target.”
Averting her eyes to the hem of her dress, she paused as she reflected - and carefully orchestrated her next words.
“I knew better. I always did.
The last time around I fought it.
...and I fought a good fight.
Many times it was declared that it wasn’t a game, a match, or a competition to win.
Inevitably, I forfeited and offered a part of me… of course in the fashion of a true lady; I kept more than I gave.
… then the predictable moment came alive the day I became a permanent fixture.
That was when the closet door exploded and all the secrets, lies and deceit were exposed.”
A visibly forced and meaningless smirk crossed her face.
She seemed to be willing the times to whisk her back to the days of her stolen romance – to feel excited and inspired – only to remember the disappointment and hurt.
“I ask myself, why bother?
… and I have no answer.”
Her voice cracks before honestly uttering;
“I miss him.”
Again she averts her eyes, this time her eyes twinkle with an aura of sorrow.
“There are some people you hold a connection with. For us we just *got it*. We understood each other on some level that made – and still makes - it hard to let go.
I think about him more than I should. I wonder if he thinks about me. About us.
I wish sometimes that he would have been man enough to stand tall.”
To think about speaking any further must have registered as torture, because that was it.
She stood up,
straightened her dress,
forged a smiled,
and excused herself as she walked out the door.