I’m in love again, finally.
Oh double cheese-burger, you little tart, I love you!
She paced the floor over and over, cursing his very being, dreaming of how many ways she would tear him apart for putting her through this misery again, when he arrived home, which he always did, with a stupid look on his face and a lame excuse emanating from his lips.
No matter how much she loved him, she would teach him a lesson this time she vowed, until the knock on the front door accompanied by the two uniformed police officers, brought her world to a crashing halt.
Love found me.
I said, “now you go hide”.
As the sun set on Jacaranda St, Mrs Jones cut sponge cake into squares and dipped each piece carefully into thick chocolate paste and rolled through the coconut, just as her mother once taught her. But as the shrill of the kettle peaked to a new high, Mr Jones collapsed in his chair, his biscuit falling into his coffee: he was gone at last.
I have the tears of a snowman at the kiss of your sun, welcoming your fire with a scarf slipping askew.
When you go, I will be the space left behind, warmed but empty.
Dreams have always lingered. You are helping me make them a reality.
Angela was consumed with fear each time her husband left the house thanks to the increase in crime in her neighborhood so she secretly bought a gun to protect herself. One morning the security alarm went off so Angela ran down the stairs and shot the shadowy figure that was trespassing; Angela turned on the light only to find her husband lying in a pool of blood holding a bouquet of roses.
We have taught each other so much in the time we’ve spent together.
You’ve taught me about love and hope and justice and I’ve taught you about lentils and parachute pants and how to fold little paper dogs out of any spare scrap you find.
I thought I had an endless supply of slim gold bars of love to hand around with reckless abandon.
Imagine my surprise to turn up to my warehouse to find it sold, a dingy coffee-house in its place.
We made the biscuits and shipped them off to those poor kids overseas.
We made love and thought highly of ourselves.
Two things were playing on his mind. The first being that they’d misspelt his name on the wanted poster.
I understand completely that you love me.
But do you obsessively write about me in little notebooks that will be found after your death?
I went to the pier today.
It reminded me of Perth, of sun, of love, of food, of champagne, of sex, of falafel, and of you, asleep with damp hair, mid-afternoon.
Nobody really liked her; however, that didn’t stop her from sashaying (like a cat in heat) out onto the stage, wearing the tightest, shortest (Harper Valley PTA sleazy) hooker red dress we – or probably anyone else for that matter – had ever seen, to accept (without any reservations) the award for teacher of the year. Of course, the pubescent young men present erupted into thunderous applause, dog woofs, and whistling (a sound akin to what happens when someone scores a touchdown at the Superbowl), while the girls and adults – totally embarrassed by this flagrant sexual display – sat silent with looks of disdain and arms folded as she stepped up to the microphone and said,
“I want to thank you all for this honor, which I could not have possibly imagined that I would win; however, I cannot accept it, and would like at this time, to present it to my friend and colleague, Mary White, who is a better teacher, better person, better dresser (greeted by snorts and laughter) and is not having an affair with the principal,”
and, this being said, then handed the plaque to Mrs. White (who had been runner up), turned and walked out of the auditorium, which had fallen into complete and utter silence.
I ate my way through two painful tonnes of solid iron. She still wasn’t attracted to me.
As we huddled next to the fire, our huddling turned to closeness which turned to kissing which turned to extreme kissing which turned into a night of passion.
I confess I brought on that ice-age so you’d huddle with me.
He paced all morning, never far from the window – stopping every three or four times around to peer out, stretching his eyes for a glimpse of her, but she was never there. When he tried to write to her even that didn’t work; what he settled on at last was writing simply “Your Valentine loves you” before he folded the scrap of paper and pushed it through the bars, to drift like a butterfly to the ground outside far below.
Sweat glistened on bodies joined in carnal dance, trickled over softly rounded landscapes, dipped into secret valleys, while the frenzy increased. After echoes of the last soaring crescendo diminished, the slickened bodies separated, heartbeats slowed, and passion cooled the weeping love had ignited.
I met a beautiful woman today, twice: the first time she kissed me and warned of impending doom; the second she had no idea who I was.
I have to figure this out, before it kills me.