It was easy lying there with my head on her left breast listening to the strong business-like beating of her heart. She looked down and said quietly, “I told you my love was revocable. I give it to many men and then I take it back.”
Me, my crowbar eyes trying to pry love from your staring face, and failing. You, your gaze of disinterest covering the room with a gauze, and prevailing. Me, my long ago stories you said you were so tired of hearing, my mistake. You, your countless confessions you told me later not to believe, always crying. Us, our lives frayed before each other did not seem to matter, until now. Us, unmasking our differences day by day with the end seeping into sight.
David James lives in Atlanta, Georgia. These were the first stories he submitted for publication.
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