a grown man

when i fell in love,

i had a choice.

i looked at him, across the beer-stained table

through the dark

and the clanging of the jukebox

into espresso eyes

and decided to love him.

not like

the other times.

 

when he made me his own,

like a wife of war

i mended

his soldier's uniform.

black stitches over purple

where somebody had sewn before.

sent him off into the cold

with a farewell kiss

knowing i was helping

to keep him warm.

through nights then

i held him

or rather, he held me.

and we whispered our fears.

were the cause

and the remedy

of so many tears.

 

there is always a choice.

 

Reviews

[Doctor JKC]

And what where those other times?

There is a sense of duty here.
And a feeling of trying to get it
right for once. I've done that
and continue
with definite hope and improvement.

A gorgeous piece!
I thank Mr. Kortas (the best writer on this site)
for recommending you.
Dr. Callaghan

[Emily B]

there is always a choice . . . a beautifully rendered story . . .

[W.k.kortas]

While the learned Jack is not right about everything, his praise for this piece is not misdirected at all. It has a bittersweet or melancholy fringe; it's boy-meets-girl, but it focuses on the flip-side of love, in a sense, what with the emphasis on our wounds ("black stitches over purple/where somebody had sewn before") and our insecurities and fears, but it's also too well conceived and executed to descend into some teen-angst poor man's Romeo and Juliet. Very impressive piece of writing.