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Post by flora westerveldt on Feb 22, 2011 1:35:02 GMT -7
i can't even remember the first time i set eyes on denver. i think it was my third day in chicago. he had stridden past me with that loping gait of his, shoulders at ease, his expression one of relaxation. that was what i had noticed first about him; the way he carried himself just made you stare, whether or not you wanted to. but then, i had seen him properly. as he had continued down the pavement, i had stopped where i stood, my gaze following him. from the back, he looked like anyone else, but i couldn't get the image of his face out of my mind. he had such distinctive features, all arranged so perfectly upon his face, lending a sense of symmetry, and yet, not. he had dark brows, i remembered, and ink trailed over his bare arms, leanly muscled and visible due to the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.
days after i had seen him, i couldn't stop thinking about him. he was everywhere to me, as ridiculous as it sounded. the bus boy at the diner had similar tattoos, though nowhere near as tasteful, while the grocer at whole foods had been wearing a shirt eerily similar to his. everything and anything reminded me of him, of the boy i had met once and had been unable to get out of my mind.
but then, i had seen him again, in the flesh. he had sat beside me at the bar of a small pub, hidden away in an offset street, somewhere most people overlooked. that alone made me like him for more than just his looks. although i was a girl of money, of wealth, and all that came with it, i valued anywhere with a good selection of beers on tap, whether it was a high-end bar in soho or a quiet lounge tucked away in a back alley. i had been thrilled when i had discovered the hideaway pub and clearly, the brooding male who i had found my thoughts often drifting to shared my sentiments. that's why i had struck up conversation and god, how glad i was that i had.
our conversation flowed as freely as the ale from the tap, hardly ceasing as we sat and chatted, my crisp london accent meshing with his, the two of us hardly aware of the others within the area. the way he looked at me made me self-conscious, but it also emboldened me, because for once, i was in a setting unfamiliar to me. i had never actively pursued anyone, nor had i ever shown an incredible amount of interest, but the tables were turned with him. something about him had me hooked and when it came time to part paths, i was ecstatic to have him ask for my number.
that was the beginning of our courtship.
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roughly four months have passed since we met and each day, i wonder what life would have been like if i hadn't seen him on the street that one faithful day. would i have married andrew sooner or would i have ended up with him anyway? questions concerning my life buzz about my mind like a swarm of bees, keeping me from sleep as i sit on my bed. as per usual, andrew is gone. to where, i have no clue, but that's normal. we lead separate lives, our paths only colliding when he returns home to me in the quiet hours of the morning. it's so unlike what denver and i had.
days used to be spent in bed, lazing about until whenever either of us felt motivated enough to rise, upon which the two of us would traipse through the streets, our hands intertwined, making an art of exploring the city. with denver, things had been so much easier. with denver, loving had been so simple, so easy, so completely real.
but now, i'm left to my own devices at one-thirty in the morning, the letters of the alarm clock glaring at me in the darkness. not a single light is on within the apartment. instead, i sit in silence, my two kittens curled up in my lap, completely at ease, oblivious to the turmoil i'm experiencing. i want denver back, but i know it isn't that easy. words are one thing but actions are another. my apologies mean nothing when i've done so much already.
nights in new york never seemed so long.
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