Why did I start to love him after he left? To be honest, I do a lot of things backward.
When we met - he lived near the beach. The pinnacle of our affair came when he left me alone in his house.
I wandered the rooms in his shirt, feet picking up sand from the floor.
Box of Cheerios on the counter, the Siamese, waiting patiently for the milk from my breakfast.
Design magazines scattered on the desk, Men's health and an Ikea catalogues beside the bathtub.
Propped in corners: golf clubs; and art books.
It's not that I love things. But those things, by being his, made me love him that day.
The power of a man's presence can be enhanced by the objects occupying his space, the subtle fragrance of him that lingers in a room, and the echos of passionate words spoken.
Sometimes standing face to face is too close to see someone.
Posted by lizzie_t
at 7:41 AM
Updated: Sunday, 4 April 2004 8:02 AM