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He painted a black mirror on the wall and stepped inside. She sat on the windowsill and watched him disappear. It had started out so nice, so softly. Soft words, soft touches... soft minds. It was a dream and both of them knew it, but neither cared. It rained only on Sundays back then. And the parties and the toasts and the handshakes that lasted a little too long, but no one seemed to care. It was a house and a dog and a fence and it was small and warm. They laughed. They laughed in those days. Hours alone and apart and together and it all blended nicely into dinner time. And the tree and the park and the swing. And the light. The light. The warm summer sun. Then there was a knock on the door. A messenger, C.O.D. It was for him. It was for her. He thought he could run away, but the faster he ran the sillier he felt. She ran after him and laughed. Dinner was ready and that was it. No more. No more of all of this, any of this. It rained today. He painted a black mirror on the wall and stepped inside. She sat on the windowsill and watched him disappear. |