Friday, September 2, 2011


He leaned across the table to whisper in her ear, “Let’s stop this talk of drawers” She gasped. Her quick inhale told him that maybe he went too far. As much as he cared for her, he really didn’t want talk about her drawers. The artifacts of her life were too messy, too unorganized. He liked neat, tidy. This was all too much for him. His well ordered life made him feel comfortable. But then, what was it about this woman that stirred something in him? His heart beat a little too fast. His breathing was shallow, spasmodic. He drew back and stirred his coffee, anything to cool the conversation.

A single tear made its way down her cheek. When it reached her lips, her tongue darted out to drink in her sadness. She wanted to leap up and run for the door. No, she decided, she would not let him go so easily. She said, “But, I want you in my drawers. I want you to organize me,”  with such ferocity that he leaned back in his chair. The gale force of her desire tilted him backwards. Gravity took over and he fell to the floor.

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