Like A Crumbling Brick Wall

Silly sentimental stuff.

She walked towards the entrance; apprehensive, nostalgic. The silky knee-length skirt of her slinky black dress swirled around her legs as she walked through the door. Soothing jazz music floated throughout the halls of this place she still felt so out of place in. Quickly scanning the lavishly decorated hall, she established that the gentleman was not in attendance that evening. Her high heels clicked over the marble floor as she made her way to the bar.

He saw her at once upon entering the place. She was at the bar with a smoky martini, still one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. His chest seemed to tighten as he remembered all he had spent so long trying to forget. He stood there gazing at her, not seeing her.

She immediately turned around when she felt his presence. He stood in the doorway; a black tailored suit effectively complimented his lithe form as he seemed to stare through her. She walked towards him tentatively, vying for the exit, wishing he would see her, wishing he would not see her. The song ended; the air permeated with easy silence.

His cappuccino colored eyes met her darker brown ones. Her eyes glittered with telling moisture as she met his gaze. In her eyes he saw regret, he saw pain, he saw desire. He faked a smile. She broke eye contact. They exchanged pleasantries.

She lied and said that she was fine. She held onto her pride and refrained from telling him she missed him. She refrained from telling him that everything that she has in her life is meaningless without him by her side. She refrained from begging him to forgive her. She refrained from confessing that each day she loves him more and her heart breaks accordingly. She wanted so badly to somehow physically give him all the love she had for him so that he could see. She wanted so badly to touch him.

He noticed the way her eyes drank him in; the way she licked her lips when her eyes flitted to his mouth; the way her fingers unknowingly caressed the material of her dress when those darting eyes took in his hair, his face, his body; he noticed that she avoided meeting his eyes. She was still so gorgeous, her dark brown hair spilling over the creamy skin of her bare shoulders. Her dress accentuated her tiny waist and teased of legs that go on forever. He remembered those legs. He remembered buying her that dress; he remembered removing the dress. He remembered that body.

She stilled, holding her breath, as his fingers caressed her jawline, stopping under her chin to bring her eyes to his. She was startled by the curious heat in his eyes. Suddenly she felt exposed. Impulsively, she slipped her arms around his waist. Relief surged through her, along with hope, when he embraced her. She breathed him in. Exquisite. As always: Absolutely exquisite. She reveled in his touch, his essence, the feel of his left hand at the small of her back and his right hand gently stroked her hair between her shoulder blades.

He felt an irrational sense of loss as she pulled away slightly to look up at him. "Are you still angry with me?" she asked him, heart on her sleeve. The warmth retreated from his eyes as he saw, once again, the torrent of hurtful words she'd thrown at him long ago. His hand dropped to his side as he remembered the pain, the betrayal. "Yes. I am still angry with you," was his reply.

She closed her eyes and heard her heart break; again. "How long will you be angry with me?" she inquired, voice tremulously quiet. He had shut her out once again.

He regarded her stoically and answered "A long, long, long time."

He made his excuses: a prior engagement to attend; already running late. The fake smile returned, accompanied by empty words of farewell. So cliche. She stood in the doorway, watched him walk away from her, back straight, shoulders squared, ready to conquer the world. By himself.

Pain wrenched through her, bringing tears to her eyes. She closed them and saw him as he'd been when they'd first met. A sob tried to escape her tense body; she quelled it immediately.

Leaning against the wall for support, she whispered remorsefully to a memory of the beautiful, loving man in her mind's eye: "I told you. I told you I would break your heart."

She returned to the bar and drank to a Love that she could have had; drank to a Love that she had unwittingly thrown away.