deanbob
He closed his eyes. He remembered the key to her strength. When she was smiling she was always stronger than himself. He would try to smile more.
It would never work. He pressed the backspace key and deleted the idea. Now what? His life was a mess. She was gone. He could not pick up where he left off. It was unstructured, like a mosh pit of souls.
What he needed was to get on a plane, travel across the country, and see a friend- a long lost friend who seemed to be fond of the healing power of scarves. His friend would set him straight- his friend would, in a few moments, make it all right.
"Enough of this," he thought to himself. "I'm acting like some pitiful worker bee. What I need is to snap out of this funk and get on with things. I should live my life more like the queen does."
They say that almost only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes, and drive-in movies. He had almost won. He had almost achieved his goal. He had almost become whole with someone else in his life, but then he dropped the horseshoe.
There was no going back, though. It was all so final - a fate worse than loneliness. He would have to pick up and move on, but it was so hard to do. She was the only one he ever really liked, and he didn't like himself enough to be alone.
He wandered around his now empty world. It had become basic and void. Was there a change coming, or was this the way it would be until the end of his days?
There was nothing cheap or sordid about it. He had lusted after her like no other. He was intoxicated by who she was, not by what she looked like. He wanted to posess her spirit and wrap it around his insides like a cloak. She was an idea he wanted to steal and use to fill his own hollow core.
"You've got to be kidding," she had said. She had really turned the tables on him. She had questioned everything he thought he knew and understood. He was forever unsure after that. She knew it, too, and worked on him like an itchy spot on her own skin.
He was like an Edward Scissorhands with the pruning shears. He would go out into the yard and take more control. He would shape and mold and form his garden like a barber. And he would do it all in spite of her leaving.
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