. . .a Lover's Tale Told Twice
"I" was his first girl. "She" was his last girl. Now "I" am his first girl once again. Our days we spun painting our past. But "She" drove his future while "I" waited in the coldest rains, and silent pains, just to live, laugh and love him once again.
He would guide me, mold me in his arms, touch me with hands so crude while staring into my glowing eyes. Only "my" eyes. The only eyes that used to look at him. And see the fragmented love he had for me. Only me.
We were like shadows we were. Traveling the moonbeams, meadows and schemes. He took me here, but never there. Once he said what I had feared, that "I" was his dear. His blood, his food in veins so clear.
"I" had visions of a life entwined. A simple street girl he bought for cups of wine, and sold me for morsels on his floor where we dined. Then vanished in an eyelash. Shredding our past. Wondering where our lives had clashed.
"He" was a restless flash. Hair so slick. Eyes so black. Out of horror, "I" kept my lips still. In one swift liquor'd-moment, all his flaws I knew. Then the dance he had planned, melted "me" down two by two.
"Janey Lou Bethany," was jealous of me. "I" never dreamed her fool's wisdom of why. He looked at her once. Eyes who met, while "our" lovin' spark began to taste the "death" of sight. And all because of "me."
How could "I" kill such a flower? My "arms" were crippled. Poor "Janey Lou" loved and lived her lies. Sometimes "he'd" wink at me. And we'd laugh through "her" sipping our poison rye and whiskey too.
What foolish dreams "I" had in the start. Dreams of ice cream streams, rose-colored beams, the envy of a generation of walking teens. "We" were "it." The pinnacle. The means. Now "I" sit with face front facing my life of past.
Hand-in-hand. Arm-in-arm we'd go. Riding the emotion. Hiding the moment. Until the midnight moon nodded at me. "Look," he sighed. "His" heart is not yours after three tomorrow's. And his "bond" will surely, slowly die.
Oh, If I could have cried. I would have cried to my grave. A lost patch of woods. A deserted, viper-hatch ditch. Vines, briar's, and poison flowers to pick. After all the miles we went. The kisses, promises spent. Sit silently gazing in an after-motion. "His" breaking back and heartless lack. While "I" was ignored by their wink.
Still "I" sit. Patience seeping. Muted weeping. "I" was his girl laid flat on a green grassy hill. Poems we filled. I'd hold his head. We'd dream ahead and what turned "his" attraction to illusion? Solitary questions. Slime and time creep together saying nothing as my wrinkled body fades.
My glowing eyes now blind. In darkness I stumble back to my grave. My resting place. Wanted just one last look past "his" two-toned, two-tongued brown and autumn color'd face.
Wish I could cry. Wish I could die. I feel time's beat. The sand comes over my soul too cold to repeat.
"He" stops. He sobs. Talks to himself in a song. "He's" alone now. "She's" dead and gone now. And only he knows how.
"I" never proclaimed I was a China Pearl. No hair to see. No hair to curl.
"He" said he was happy. Like a fool I felt it too.
Oh, just what if I could'ive been his China Pearl?
At least in that forgotten today "I" was his first "girl."
Writer's Note: Dear Reader. Your task is to read this piece over and over. Read each stanza, phrase and word. And when you have finished your studying, tell me what the writer talking about his first car, or his first girl?
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