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Life is only what you wonder.

Thursday, February 13, 2003

From my work-in-progress:
"Still Lives"

    His lover stood at the foot of the bed, his face was as cold and unemotional as the statues in the park where they used to go when they first met.

    "It's all your selfishness," his lover said, "You think the world revolves around you, but it doesn't. Why can't you think of me for a change?"

    "I do think of you. All the time," he said sullenly, sucking on his cigarette, curled up in a naked flesh-colored ball on the rumpled sheets they had gotten as a wedding present.

    "And why is it that I'm the selfish one?" he continued, "You want it your way, I want it mine--yet I'm the selfish one. How can that be?"

    He exhaled, and the smoke looked lavender-colored in the dim slanty light peeking through the half-closed ventian blinds.
    He heard a bird chirping outside the window as he tapped his ash in the large glass ashtray next to him on the marble-topped bedside table.
    He sighed and closed his eyes, then inhaled deeply on the cigarette between his fingers while he waited for the reply to his question.