She Says (1)

It crumbled that cold autumn night. it rained more often than not that season. As the cold breeze of the north Atlantic swept across the city, signaling the approaching white winter, I crossed my arms. I held myself. And tears rolled down my cheek every now and then. Every time I hear the music. Every time I pass our meeting place. Every time I remember.

It fell apart that wet autumn night. I crumbled. No amount of reasoning can get through the man that sat in front of me. The very same man that made me laugh, and feeling carefree this past season was making me tear inside.

I held myself, as my insides churned. "I am a deeply flawed man." Those words seem to ring in my head. The wintry wind adds to my emptiness. I can’t see why this has to happen. I detest falling and falling. What does he mean flawed? Is there such a thing as perfection?

I am now back to the humdrum life of writing and teaching. I miss the intellectual discourse. So much I have seen and heard. Yet nothing I can hold and feel now. Did it not matter at all to him?

I couldn’t see past the steely eyes when he stood up and called our meeting to an abrupt end. Unfinished wine glasses. Crème brulee order that never came.

It aches. It hurts. Can this be real? I fell but no one caught me.