Scribbles of truth

A keen aspect of having less almost always results to bitterness and disdain to the world; a world where materialistic belongings are what everyone aspires to aquire, nothing is far from the reach of money unless you do not have that treasure to start with.

This writer was never one for realisim, but life will always catch up on you, entraping you with its sharp glare, that you can do nothing but look yonder...towards the black abyss of reality.

Victor Hugo wrote - So long as there shall exist, by virtue of law and custom, decrees of damnation pronounced by society, artificially creating hells amid the civilization of the earth, and adding the element of human fate to divine destiny, so long as the three great problems of the century- the degradation of man through pauperism, the corruption of woman through hunger, the crippling of children through lack of light- are unsolved; so long as social asphyxia is possible in any part of the world;- in other words, and with a still wider significance, so long as ignorance and poverty exist on earth, books of the nature of les miserables cannot fail to be of use.

There could be no better words to describe fictious realisim - stories that tell of a world that could be in ours, characters in which are as real as a next door neigbor but with the makings of a convict one hears about in a news flash.

Poverity, brutaulity, war, death, greif, cruelty, are sadly what describes our world of the now, prayers are set on every pair of lips beckoning each god known to man to step forward and set an end to the turmoil we- as humans have unleashed upon ourselves, all for the usual nessisities, Power, wealth and greed.

After thoughts...

In a perfect world, life would be set in the clear, good and evil will show they're true colors, white for purity and black for venom.

But here, Ah…In the real world, there is too much of the grey spots that is in-between, mankind has become a rubber, once white but then when erasing the bad deeds becomes stained with the darkness he encounters.

The irony.

I am far to judge anyone, I am flawed in many ways, too many infact, selfish, cunning, and a spender much to my husband's displeasure. 

But what is it about us? That drives us to the worst , is it all really the workings of the devil? Are we really the angels we presume to be? Aren't we just the lesser demons of the earth?

My ramblings could go on till the morrow..

But it just shifts me, the shock you feel when you think someone is all good, a hero of light, the ultimate saint, when in need they turn into that clear color of in-between, that cloudy grey of impurity, and then you know, you realize…There is no such thing as a saint, let those stories be in they're leather bindings, in those glossy pages that are printed every day.

This. This is the real world,mate.

Demons prowl our corners, angels watch from above, and god sits upon his throne of light watching us eat at each other until he sets us for doomsday…

Indeed, we are doomed. 

Victor Hugo- A Preface

A famed writer once wrote this...

'So long as there shall exist, by virtue of law and custom, decrees of damnation pronounced by society, artificially creating hells amid the civilization of earth, and adding the element of human fate to divine destiny; so long as the three great problems of the century- the degradation of man through pauperism, the corruption of woman through hunger, the crippling of children through lack of light- are unsolved; so long as social asphyxia is possible in any part of the world;-in other words, and with a still wider significance, so long as ignorance and poverty exist on earth, books of the nature of Les Miserables cannot fail to be of use.'

Victor Hugo, although I haven't read his complete works, was always one of my idols, his dark themed stories captured me and sculpted my thinking into what it is now, VH was a visionary, much more than what I can write about here...he was a hero of the written word, he made each paragraph speak like a sword in a holy battle, the man had propose often lacked in modern literature, you could feel it in his books...the way he talked about the world made you feel that he believed, even in a skeptical way that the darkness we live in can become light once again.

He believed in humanity. 

I've watched more than my share of Les Miserables, and even though I had skimmed through the pages of the book as a young adult I couldn't go on with it, I found the book dark, and had too much realism for me -a fanciful girl of 14 to grasp- now as an adult I welcomed his mastermind, the aches of his characters, the beauty of his written words.

Such an epic.

Her. Over cake.

It was a week later of unanswered calls that she began to panic.

Was all this a joke?

Did he realize they're union would be a scandal and had decided to back off quietly?

But that wasn't fair!

She finally had some reigns back to her life, and him added to the picture seemed to make her being whole.

She slumped back into her bamboo chair and stared up at the sky once more, she had been sulking for days, nothing much to alter her being, her hands smelled of ink, her blouse blotched, her hair in airy disarray she had recently opted to prefer.

So this is life.

She would think sometimes.

"Easy come, easy go."She whispered to the morning lights, a bird seemed to echo her sentiment for it had landed for a moment on her balcony railing only to fly off once more.

She had been writing nothing for ages, her new book was nibbling its way to the finish line but there was much to do, he had plagued her mind so much, it seemed every character she would concive mimicked his coloring and actions, she was unfocused.

Unfocused spelled out failure, and she did not want her first attempt to fail so soon, it was like an abortion, living with the pain of pregnancy with the hope of a little one joining the clan soon only for it to be dissolved in a pouring of blood, skewering that dream alive.

She shouldn't think about it anymore, let the days come, she cradled her pen between her thumb and forefinger, and continued on her adventure in paperland, her coffee forgotten.

An hour later, her maid knocked on her door, she stifled her annoyance at the disturbance instead she called for her to come in.

On que, the woman walked in with a polite greeting handing her the the daily mail with a copy of today's paper.

She ignored the cluster of bills on her table, wondering how she would pay this months wages, it seemed she would have to call on her aunt again and have her lend her some money, the woman was a paragon of righteousness, things like "Lend me" did not go well with her, especially from an orphaned relative, she would frown at her and take out her check book always writing her a generous sum that would not only pay her bills but keep her in a comfortable lifestyle, her bank account was never empty because of the woman, she couldn't thank her enough.

She decided she would bake her a date cake and pop in on the dear woman, it would do well for her to move her legs and have a refreshing sit down with someone other than her fictional characters.

She found that baking was an easy relief for her stress, she baked horribly but it always tasted good, her frosting consisted of cream spread across the smooth texture and then sprinkled with a bit of Cocoa, her cousins had always exclaimed that it looked endearingly homemade…and she grasped at that piece of a compliment instead of doubting them and assessing that they were only saying that to make her feel better, but she was in no place for assessment she would grab at that branch of good fellowship and carry on.

They pity me, but who cares?

It was later that day when she had finally finished baking, looking like a cake herself with her cheeks dusty with flour and hair tied up in a crooked bun, she sailed out of the kitchen all smiles at her small accomplishment, telling her loyal maid to wrap it up for her after it had cooled, she quickly took a haste shower, combed her hair, applied no makeup, and wore a mid length dress of ice blue.

She glided to the kitchen, packed up her cake and went out to the garage to start her black mini cooper, her purse already flung under the side seat while the date cake was securely adjusted in the back.

She rang the engine and drove off.

She ignored the honks, and the rowdy teenagers with they're stereo's at full beat, her sights set on the tan painted mansion, with its brick covered columns, see through gates of iron blocked her from the green pastured passage way, she honked lightly for the doorman to click the gates open, she drove over the cement drive through, parking her car under an over grown tree at the edge of the space, she did not want to impose on the rest of her cousins parking space, humbled as she was, she couldn't risk having them get upset, they were her only leverage to society.

She ignored the rile in her belly as she approached the large wooden doors, recalling that the subject of her lodgings would have to come up, if anything her dear aunt was a traditional, she walked steadily by the book, and she; her niece was surprised she did not shun her first for her poor display in marriage affairs. Instead the woman held her close, backed her up completely.

"You smell like him."She had once told her while weeping into her shoulder, reminiscing about her dear father, she had cried buckets all over again that day, and her aunt joined her weeping, it wasn't right for an old woman to cry, the sight of her frail shoulders shaking made her realize all the wrong in the world, it was devastating. 

"Good afternoon Aunti!!" She said in a sing song voice coming to the parlor, her Aunt sitting cross legged looking like an elegant painting of the french art, her summer dress smart of a deep blue.

"Blue is the mood, my darling." She said, eying her ice blue dress in a approval.

"Yes, I so adore the color." She commented coming to sit by her aunt, the cake laid on the coffee table beyond, "I baked a cake for you." She said kissing the older woman's cheeks, "Oh…you witch!"Her aunt had joked, "Your going to make me into a big cow with all these sweets!"

She chuckled devilishly in reply, already ringing for the maid to bring a couple of plates, forks and a knife.

"Well…What's new with you?" Asked her aunt taking a sip of her tea, She shrugged telling of her impending writing projects, her hands still smelled of ink even though she had scrubbed them clean, she was stuck with it, just like she was stuck with her own creative insanity.

"What are you writing about?" Her aunt asked.

"About the war, my main character is girl who is faking being a foreign  soldier to gain safe passage out of her torn country."

"What a sad concept!" Her aunt said scandalized. 

"Too strong?"

"Why can't you write about the war without the women? Really. Everyone would think it would be your new fancy to join the military, it would just make the gossip come again."

"Oh, Auntii…I don't care what people think, I'm writing this for me, its a story, I do not come from a war torn country, well not recently! and I do not seek to be a soldier…I'm a writer, a visionary, last I checked they do not need those in the military." 

"Yes, but you can't say that pretty speech to everyone." 

"Tell you what…When I get it published, I'll post that very line at the very beginning…then nobody would dare gossip, at least not openly."

"Ohh…Hush! Writing is useless, all those writers you like are all dead, and all they're writings are a bore! They only wrote all that nonsense to analyze the world, but I'll tell you this darling, the world is simple, there is nothing but beauty, life and death, ugliness and horror, love and heartbreak, those are its elements…Its just the basic knowledge for any human, no smarty pants could contradict that!"

"Oh Auntii…I concur." She sighed.

The older woman sat back relishing her successful argument, her plate before her now, a slice of cake on it to go with her tea.

"Now baking is a lady's profession! This is delicious…"She said in praise about her cake.

She dodged the barb and simply answered, "I'm so happy you liked it."

"Now there is some gossip adrift…my silly neighbor, You wouldn't believe what she had made her son do."

She took a sip of her tea, her ears half listening, though she was always thankful for her aunt's entraining conversations.

"Can you believe, she had him court three girls simultaneously!! It has the whole neighborhood buzzing, how on earth are the father's alright with this is beyond me, I know all they're mothers, halfwits so intent on marrying off they're daughters they wouldn't care about the talk."

"How sad."She murmured.

"Exactly so, but he is very accomplished I hear…An architect, handsome, I think you and he went to the same school at one point actually, just came back from France after finishing a very important project there."

She was uninterested until her aunt finished the descriptions about the groom, her heart thumped into pieces in her chest, and her throat went dry, she couldn't form a sentience for long moments but then when she managed it, she asked for his name.

And when her Aunt uttered it, she slumped back against the cushions, her eyes glazed with emptiness.

"Goodness, Darling! What's the matter!!" Her aunt exclaimed watching her vast change in mood, taking her wrist in her own hand as if trying to measure her pulse.

"Oh Auntii…I think its time I tell you what really happened in France."She murmured, her shattered heart in her eyes.

And then she talked, unveiling every intimate detail, her gathering with him in Paris, they're private dinner, the way her husband had found out, the real reason for her divorce, and how he had visited her the other day to propose. 

"Oh god."Whispered her aunt.

"I think he was pulling a joke on me all along, I guess its his sort of revenge for all the things I've done to him in the past…I was fool enough to believe he really wanted me." She sobbed.

"Oh darling…"her aunt shook her head and continued rubbing her shoulder.

"I thought it would all end, the emptiness, you should have seen him, the way he asked me to marry him! It was an oscar winning act…I ate up all his words, and I stayed up night after night waiting for his mothers call…it never came."

"She'd never do that, She's a bigger stickler than I; avoids a scandal like the plague, She's very medieval I confess, divorce to her is the end of the world to a woman."

"I did not know."

"Well, needless to say, that boy is long gone, I do hope you come live with me from now on, your so pretty, such easy prey for any of those ruffians out there…I'll arrange a suit for you, keep your house until another worthy fellow comes and you can use it as a family home, your father would have loved that."

"Oh Auntii…I don't think I will ever get married again."

"Hush darling, Your grandmother married three times, children from each of those men and she did not care to start a new romance every time! Your young with no baggage, beautiful and intelligent, you are the package, my dear. Any man would be crazy not to want you."

She just looked at her, hatred and jealousy eating at her heart, she was broken, his boyish smiles still lingered in her head, the way he had said her name, the way he had touched her, his voice and those endearing words he spoke.

Liar.

She shivered then, and her aunt drew her against her with a hug.

She did not go home that day.

************

I do hope you have enjoyed my silly post...

There's more, so stay tuned!! :D

Comments please, I would love to read your thoughts. 

The love doctor

Often time's when I go out with a friend, or have a good night gathering of my acquaintances, I'm always approached for advice.

What's funny is its all about men and love.

I never claimed to be an expert, but the women who have approached me were idealistic- a trait I long ago discarded- imaginative romantics, that expect they're love interest to remember what sort of flower they liked, how they had envisioned they're men to tell them how they're eyes reminded them of melted chocolate.

I suppressed my giggles of course.

Now, don't take this the wrong way, my contact with men are limited, I was never a fan of they're long strides in, of the guerilla like stances when they spotted a woman they took interest upon, nor did I like they're voices, harsh, loud and just plain disruptive.

Yet, I observed.

Its funny really, often times I found myself suppressing laughter at a failed attempt of flirting, the classic lean in, the way they crossed and uncrossed they're arms, begging to be looked at.

It was like going to a circus, watching on in disinterest as each performance boarded on the common usual.

Well, now my friends did not see men as I saw them, they envisioned they're love's to be the one, the true, the hero.

and then when that did not happen, they fell, crumbling into confusion.

That's the thing about women, we are so dumbfounded by men, they make you think they can carry boulders when really...they just want an easier way around it.

Women, are the hero's of this age, I am sorry to say this, but my opinion of men has dimmed over the years, call me a cynic, but the odds in finding that one true hero has become a rarity, that is why women tend to be jealous over a satisfied friend with her mate.

It just does not happen that often.

Anyhow, back to my point, My friends come up to me and ask me for guidance more times than I could count, they're high chins and laughing eyes change into the negative, they are not them anymore, they worry too much.

Why?

Because they are consumed with the classic tale and wonderment of: What a man wants!

The key here, and I implement this in my own life, the simple solution of it all.

Don't, stop!

Just don't go there, don't wonder, don't change yourself to please. Be yourself.
To most men I think that is the biggest turn on, to walk on nonchalant of him and any of his antics, to act as if his show was expected and believe that you deserve more than this.

Believe that you are the jewel that many miners would fight for, don't ever doubt it.

I'm not here to relish in my wisdom, simply telling you of the one thing that has worked in my life, when I was shy and expecting I was bombarded with disappointments, but when I matured and realized that I was more than any man could ask for or could have- I don't want to come across as arrogant, but I do really believe that of me and of most  women- I was surprised with the results.

Believe you are desirable and you shall be.

That is my only advice, the only lesson I have merited in matters of the heart, for it is really a game.


Sometimes my advice would not be incorporated with my friends, they do not take it seriously and would turn away to the bosoms of they're mothers where they are counter told to be what her man wants her to be.

And then it starts, the loop of female weakness, where women tell they're daughters to be what they're husbands want them to be, of friends encouraging they're own 'besties' to get skinnier in order to get her man, of misery and companionship, of tears amid masses.

Ohh the drama!

I choose not to envision anymore.

I hope this post would be a reason to ponder for my female readers, of womanhood and what it truly embodies, to look at it as a whole and not of how others paint it to be, seek within yourselves and find what your truly made of.

His Home 2

He was on air.

 His head was empty, his face set in a wide grin as he passed the empty side walk of the quiet neighborhood, all that was left of him was the memory of her and his hasty proposal.

 It was the best thing he had ever done.And it seemed so right to have it said where it all began.

 He drove off making his way back home, intending to break the news to his mother as soon as possible.  He turned alleys, swished past elegant drivers, he looked every bit the menace he was once reported to be, the wolfish laugh that echoed from inside his vehicle seemed to only confirm it.He blasted his stereo speakers, a song he did not know sounded and he hummed to it anyhow.

 Finally!! 

Was the word that went on and on in his head, it was the only word he could think of that described his situation completely.

 He parked his car in its designated space, strolled out into the courtyard of his family home and inside to where his mother preferred to be seated, he saw her soon enough, her spectacles a bit crooked, a cup of red tea in her hand, her eyes glanced from him then back to the tv set, possibly still miffed at him for ignoring her plea's about his smoking state.


 "'Evening."He greeted, the grin still on his face as he closeted the gap, kissing both her cheeks fondly.

 "To you to."She replied in a bored tone.

 "Where is everyone?"He asked looking about the small yet fashionable sitting room.

 "Your sister is studying for an exam, the twins are asleep." She replied, it was never an easy time for his mother, especially after his father passed as a child, most of all it was this time of the evening she was most melancholy, her world was silenced and her children were taken upon they're own lifes and interests to share the night time with her.

 She always sat up late watching old movies, sometimes he wondered if she had watched them with his father too.

 "Mom."He started to say, sitting down on his knee's by the recliner, "I have news to tell…Oh! How you will like what I'm up to."

 She removed her spectacles and looked at him fully, her interest very much perked at his starter announcement. "What is going on?"

 "I decided I'm getting married!" He said a masculine chuckle followed his words, it was so joyful to have his thoughts mouthed.

 His mother's eyes glazed, her hands clasped on her lap, her tea rested on the side table forgotten, and then she touched his cheek, as if to make sure he was there saying the holy words every mother dreamed to hear from her son.

 "You really mean that?" She whispered enchanted.

 "Mhmm." 

"You devil! Who is she?" She asked in an instant coming back to her usual chirpy self."You already know her."Came his reply, his eyes guarded now when he spoke her name.

 His mother sucked in a breath, looked away then turned back to him once more."I can't believe this!"
 
"Why?" His voice was patient but his mood was turning sour fast, he did not want to hear any objections anymore. He was so damned sick of it.

 "She's divorced, a widow! I don't know what she is exactly, but she is not the kind of women society pictures you to choose!"

 "Damn society, Mother. Do you want me to be happy or not?"

 "Of course, I do!" She replied aghast.

 "I already asked the lady, I'm a grown man, I can choose who I want to be with, I don't need you going off choosing for me."

 Her lips thined, and then she glanced away in silence, he swore he saw her eyes go wet, but his masculine mind did not choose to go down that path to ponder, he could not weaken now.

 She seemed to find her voice once again after a moment.

 "So this is it, then."

 "Yes."


 "She'll take you even with out my consent?"

 "I hope so."

 "So you choose her over me?"

 It was those words, damn those words.

 It was the words that no mother should say to her son, it made him soften on his resolve, his eyes saw only her pain, and he realized for the first time how much hurt he would inflict to get what he wanted.

 He felt low, selfish.

 "Its not like that." he argued, though he heard his voice crumble now.

 "I can find you a better bride, I know I can, there are so many beautiful girls out there, love. Untried, with no excess baggage and no expectations."

 "I love her." he said, his shoulders straightening, like a soldier about to go into a sure battle.

 "I know you did at one point, she broke your heart once, don't handed it over so easily again."

 "Its too late."

 "Darling…the woman is at her wits end, a certified divorcee and a widow at that would jump at the chance of marrying you…any girl would."

 "Its not like that with us."

 "Us? You spoke to her before now?"

 "We met in Paris, she was still married, we renewed our acquaintance and she realized early on that she was going to ask for a divorce and come back home."

 He hated how he summed up those memories of her, how her eyes had glowed when she looked up at him, that little detail she did when she scratched her thumb into her palm, how she had looked that night under the stars, it seemed pitiful of him to tell his mother in such a way, but he wasn't going to share those intimate details about her with anyone.

 "How could you?! Have a deliance with a married woman! That poor man! I can't blame him for throwing her out! What a nightmare…Oh god. I need my tea."

 It seemed comical to him now, his mothers reaction, it was exactly the embodiment of all the gossip that would soon come out of them, he did not care a fig what people thought about him, he never had the best reputation when it came to women, but he worried about her, all alone now, she would be easy prey to the wolfs.

 "I'm sorry, mother.  I didn't do anything wrong, I did not touch the lady, we merely met, she was uncomfortable in her marriage. Nothing more, quit with the allegations."

 "Fine, I'll forget I heard anything, but I propose a compromise."

 He listened, did not show any emotions of interest because if he did his mother would swoop in and make him take what she offered by default.

 "If I have any place in your heart, as your mother I beseech you, there are three young ladies that I had always envisioned you with, -perfect backgrounds, beautiful, and conservative- Take this last wish, meet them and decide for yourself if you truly found the woman for you, see what the world has to offer, if you come out sure that you still want the lady then I will give you my full approval and welcome her with open arms."

 His eyes flashed in anger, but he repressed the fumes for now, he had known enough women to know which one mattered, his mother did not know how far he had gone in numbers of women, she did not want him to regret his choice, but what was there to regret?

 A beautiful young woman, who knew him well enough, who he had known well enough, who mystified him with her voice and grace, he was like a deer in her headlights unable to look away, but when he spoke again he did not say those thoughts, he voiced something else entirely.

 "I'll give you one week, starting tomorrow. I'll meet them."

 His mother broke into a grin, then clasped her hands together charmed by his agreement to her plan, and she told him in a sing song voice, that he would not regret it.

 all signs of tears in her eyes dried in an instant.

 *********************

 Sorry for the long wait, but here it is, I apologize if it's shorter than usual, promise the next part would be longer. 


 Thanks for reading again. :) 


 Comments and critique greatly appreciated.

His/Her-Balcony Scene.

It was already dusk, she watched on the sky turn its familiar shade of red and pink, a flock of birds tweeted its retreat to they're hidden nests, the sound echoed through her balcony, her hand painted with all kinds of ink, she had stayed up all night writing again, and had yet to sleep for the day, she yawned, it was too quiet in her olden house, except for her maid, her only confidant now.

As the cheerful older lady brought the antique silver tray in, a lone cup and kettle of fresh hot tea, its aroma filled her senses, it was her only luxury now.
And it brought her so much peace.

She had managed to auction off most of her lavish gowns, which had brought her enough profit to live by for a while.

With a gentle smile, she helped her maid lay the tray upon the small gilded table, she cheerfully lounged onto the bamboo chair, one of her father's most favored piece of furniture that she now cherished.

She had decorated the balcony with paper butterflies on strings, chinese lanterns began to shimmer above her with the coming of night, and she relished this little piece of magic she owned.


It was quiet a challenge running the hefty mansion, but she had strived to keep up its keep with setting schedules and the occasional help she got from her fathers side of the family, long lost cousins and aunts occasionally popped in for a chat, and urged her to reconsider leaving with them, it wasn't healthy for a young woman to live alone after all.


She gave a long breath, sipping her tea, deciding it was no time to dwell on the present, rather than enjoy her moment of now, distant lights flickered open around her on the main street, the familiar wiff of jasmine gifted by the cool breeze was always her undoing.

Bittersweet, painfully so.

And then there was the usual ruckas, Rajo had probably come to clear out the mess in the garden, poor soul, always helping even though she paid him very little.

His footsteps lingered underneath her, and she called to him laughingly to get back to work and not play the poet to her poor harassed maid.

It wasn't until she looked down that she realized who she was truly addressing.

It took her a moment to realize who it was, but the unmistakable built and those eyes, dark and unblinking looking upwards at her, she half expected him to be an apparition or a dream of a long torn memory, a piece kept away from the puzzle of her mind.

She watched as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked up at her, silently, perhaps even memorizing her, she suspected.

Her throat constricted in that awful way it did when she saw him, she turned away from the mesmerizing apparition below and tried to find composure; but when she looked back, he was gone.

So it was my imagination after all.

She sighed in disappointment, although her active mind promised that it was best that it was.

She sat back on her straw chair, staring up at the stars coming to glitter above, one by one they appeared.

And then she heard something else.

A scruff of shoes against metal, when she glanced to her left, she saw hands on the concrete railing, then a face;and then he came afoot, standing all male; feet's away from her.

"You could've rang the door bell." She said to his familiar face, her voice came out soft and not with the sarcastic undertones she had intended to say.

"I like it the old way." He said glancing back at the neglected ladder by the railing, when he looked back towards her, his eyes were grave, the clamp of his jaw was evident as he surveyed the grounds around her.

She saw that it did not escape him, the state of her finance's, and she sat silently, straight-backed, chin high and defiant at whatever let down he was going to say to her.

"You did not write."He said finally, "I tried contacting you at that address you gave me, you never answered." His words were accusing yet his tone was gentle, questioning.

"I couldn't then; the situation was too bleak, He was dying and slipping away fast, what little time I had to myself I was faced with paperwork, besides phonelines were tapped. When the news came out of my estranged divorce, I assumed you heard about it and decided you changed your mind."

He just looked at her, mouth agape.

She shrugged.

"I waited for you. I'm still waiting." He said, his voice full of anguish.

"I can never understand you." She said rising, her hair braided to the side, she was dressed simply in an oversized white shirt and dark leggings, the sight of her would probably send most of her fashion crazed friends to a swoon, but she lingered with him.

"You can have anyone, anyone!"She repeated, "Do you realize the effect you'd have on society, an accomplished bachelor falling for a divorced widow?! They'd call you insane, or worse call me a witch!"

He did not rise to her goading, that confident aura he had, always laid siege on her heart, his hand outstretched to pluck a flower from its stems, the blooms snaked about her balcony in abandon, he circled the small flower between his fingers, then glanced at her.

"You really are a witch." He said as an after thought, smiling her way, his eyes breaking into that familiar warmth, "You gave me no choice when I was fifteen but to look at you, by seventeen I was already at the palm of your hand, but it was when I turned twenty you made sure that I was never to forget you when you left me." His voice turned choked now.

"By twenty two all I could think of was my studies, the friends I had, and my family, yes, there were other girls, there always were, but they were never you. when I saw you in Paris you were a memory, but then you were there…reminding me once more of what I never had, and I wanted you back all over again."

He seemed to gulp away his emotion, then continued in a more leveled voice,"Having you, those stolen moments in Paris validated what I had known, that you still felt for me, you remembered me, and what we had. Even if it was childish.
It was never that to me. As cliche as this might sound, You. You were always the one."

She did not realize until her eyes blurred and she no longer saw him, tears streamed down her face unheeded, then he stepped closer taking her hands in his own, his warm hands calming her own clammy ones.
"Before I heard the news of your return, i was defeated, but when i knew…god. When I heard it, I had to see you, Society be damned."

Her heart burst with a million emotions, her mind churned, memorizing every word and tone, locking it all in the folds of her memory.

"I don't deserve this." She whispered, for she did not dare speak lest she fell into sobs.

" Of course you don't. But you'll have the rest of your life to make it up for me." He said, that devilish grin on his lips once more, and she gave a hesitant smile behind the viel of tears, he check her chin up and goaded a grin out of her.

"I'll let the women call you tomorrow, we'll set the preparations, I hate these customs but we'd best stick to the rules this time,agreed?" He said, and she gave him a nod, telling him with her mystified eyes that she was indeed his for the taking.

With that, he kissed the back of her hand and slipped into the night.

She stood there mystified under the moonlight, a dreamy haze coming to sit upon her heart, she was on air, all smiles and hums till bedtime.



***************************************************************************

Finally its here.

I apologize for the long wait for this post, I hope you enjoyed it.
There are a couple more posts I think for the completion we'll see, looks like all's well with our characters, and we'll soon leave them in a good place.

Thank you all for reading.

Comments are always anticipated!!
XOXO