Post by Queen of Rain on Feb 22, 2006 11:03:25 GMT -8
She looks at him, then she closes her eyes. She opens them and looks at him again. Looks at him with eyes green like apples. Forbidden fruit, she should know better, but her eyes are drawn to these deep ponds of Innosence. Confusion and temptation, in his eyes.
She drinks too much coffee, caffeine spreading through her veins like poison. Making all impressions a little sharper, like stiletto heels on polished floor, every step could leave a painful mark. She wonders if anyone notices how her eyes wander, perhaps people have known all the time. Known her secret forbidden desire of eyes green as forbidden apples.
She doesn't know if she's beautiful or if its just something he sees. He tells her that her eyes are starbright, but it might be his own reflection he sees in them. All his truths have a taste of flattering in them. She doesn't know wether to love or hate it. Wether to feel like his princess, or just his beautiful accessorie.
There is a portrait of his wife on the wall. She doesn't have green eyes. Seems she never was beautiful, perhaps she only always was.
There is a mirror next to her portrait. They could be the same age but the other woman has been gone for 10 years. She closes her eyes, tries to ignore her reflection and just be. But there are mirrors in every room. Every room but one, and she never walks past that room unless the door is closed.
She avoids the room to avoid the temptation of going through the open door and closing it after her.
He calls her beautiful and looks deep into her eyes. They don't make love tonight. she watches his body still so attractive after all the years it has wandered. He had a scar next to his eyelid that he got in Shanghai. He had a burnmark on his ankle from Argentina. He had seen the world while it still was young pure and beautiful. His eyes had so many stories to tell. she had so much to learn yet he coiuld never teach her how to be withouth being beautiful. And he could not teach her how to ignore temptation, perhaps becuase he was part of it.
She watches him sleep and then she looked across the room into the big mirror. It shows an image of a young woman and she wonders if she's really there. She can hear the dripping sound of melting snow. All truths are melting infront of her eyes. Perhaps there are too many stories here. Too much contrast between them and those that can happen in the future. Her eyes look green in the dark and maybe they are. Green and confused about what the world has to offer her.
Barefeet walk down the stairs. When she reaces the fourteenth step she halts. She doesn't know how he knows, perhaps he doesn't but he stands almost next to her, only a silouette in the dark. But he's there and his soft lips meet hers, finally. The grounds staart to shake her hand touches his shevelled hair.
She looks at him, then she closes her eyes and turns around. she knows she can't come back yet what is there to miss. Except for the confrast between comfort and temptation. She has been walking on unsafe grounds for a long while now. Sharp stilettos on their parquettfloor.
She loved them both becuse they made her feel so beautiful. She didn't know if she was. However she wondered why she would be? To accessorise a storyteller, or to make the young man with the green eyes yearn. In the long run neither. The difference between young and old men seemed to be whether their stories were about to happen or to be told. She needed her own stories.
She puts her shoes on and walks out the door, into the dark winternight. She doesn't turn around but she can feel it. Two pair of eyes watching her walk through the snow. Father and son in a window each. They watch her walk out of their lives, unaware of how they share this very moment. Her boots sink into the snow and she can feel how spring awaitens to break through the melting winther and sweep them all off their feet. It feels good knowing she's on her way.
She drinks too much coffee, caffeine spreading through her veins like poison. Making all impressions a little sharper, like stiletto heels on polished floor, every step could leave a painful mark. She wonders if anyone notices how her eyes wander, perhaps people have known all the time. Known her secret forbidden desire of eyes green as forbidden apples.
She doesn't know if she's beautiful or if its just something he sees. He tells her that her eyes are starbright, but it might be his own reflection he sees in them. All his truths have a taste of flattering in them. She doesn't know wether to love or hate it. Wether to feel like his princess, or just his beautiful accessorie.
There is a portrait of his wife on the wall. She doesn't have green eyes. Seems she never was beautiful, perhaps she only always was.
There is a mirror next to her portrait. They could be the same age but the other woman has been gone for 10 years. She closes her eyes, tries to ignore her reflection and just be. But there are mirrors in every room. Every room but one, and she never walks past that room unless the door is closed.
She avoids the room to avoid the temptation of going through the open door and closing it after her.
He calls her beautiful and looks deep into her eyes. They don't make love tonight. she watches his body still so attractive after all the years it has wandered. He had a scar next to his eyelid that he got in Shanghai. He had a burnmark on his ankle from Argentina. He had seen the world while it still was young pure and beautiful. His eyes had so many stories to tell. she had so much to learn yet he coiuld never teach her how to be withouth being beautiful. And he could not teach her how to ignore temptation, perhaps becuase he was part of it.
She watches him sleep and then she looked across the room into the big mirror. It shows an image of a young woman and she wonders if she's really there. She can hear the dripping sound of melting snow. All truths are melting infront of her eyes. Perhaps there are too many stories here. Too much contrast between them and those that can happen in the future. Her eyes look green in the dark and maybe they are. Green and confused about what the world has to offer her.
Barefeet walk down the stairs. When she reaces the fourteenth step she halts. She doesn't know how he knows, perhaps he doesn't but he stands almost next to her, only a silouette in the dark. But he's there and his soft lips meet hers, finally. The grounds staart to shake her hand touches his shevelled hair.
She looks at him, then she closes her eyes and turns around. she knows she can't come back yet what is there to miss. Except for the confrast between comfort and temptation. She has been walking on unsafe grounds for a long while now. Sharp stilettos on their parquettfloor.
She loved them both becuse they made her feel so beautiful. She didn't know if she was. However she wondered why she would be? To accessorise a storyteller, or to make the young man with the green eyes yearn. In the long run neither. The difference between young and old men seemed to be whether their stories were about to happen or to be told. She needed her own stories.
She puts her shoes on and walks out the door, into the dark winternight. She doesn't turn around but she can feel it. Two pair of eyes watching her walk through the snow. Father and son in a window each. They watch her walk out of their lives, unaware of how they share this very moment. Her boots sink into the snow and she can feel how spring awaitens to break through the melting winther and sweep them all off their feet. It feels good knowing she's on her way.
