I guess I tried the poem first. I used to write poetry to her all the time. I compared her to angels; I lamented my inability to write about her beauty. So, I tried again.

Moonlight in your hair
flaxon, beautiful and faire
standing on your stoop
I wonder if you care.

You held me in your arms
and then I felt alarm
and now I am retreating
from pain and hurt and harm.

It was fake. It wasn’t even a good poem, but it was superficial on top of that. It was horrible; it made me cringe to think of how she would have to pretend to love it. It’s been so long since I’ve written about her… so long.

“DIE LOVE” A pierced heart, dripping with blood. I was never much of a sketch artist, either. I stuck to simple drawings, when I had to. I’d never taken an art lesson in my life, and I didn’t plan to, either.

I wrote some lyrics. Radiohead was my favorite band. Bush was hers. Both songs seemed out of place. I used to sing “Motion Picture Soundtrack” to her all the time, while playing guitar. It sounded hollow now – empty.

She hated math, but I love it. She was always the dreamer, while I was always the logical one. I found solace in the predictability of math equations. My heart rested easily in the bosom of proofs and theories. I could not be spontaneous, which is I had to write down what I wanted to say.

At the bottom of the page was written, in my hand:

I want a divorce
I won’t be home ever
I hate you

I picked up the phone and dialed home. Then I heard her voice.


I froze. I couldn’t do this. I grabbed my eraser and scribbled furiously. Then I rewrote another message.

“Honey? Is that you?”

In a shakey voice I said, “Still at work.”

“Oh, ok. I guess you’ll be working late again. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

There was a click as the line was cut. It took all I had not to cry. I guess this would be just one more day. One more day of being late.

Download it at deviantART.

11 Replies to “Late”

  1. I take it he didn’t hear the other man’s voice in the background. She loves him, that much isn’t a lie, but she can’t keep on waiting for him to love her. She finds solace in another’s man’s arms. She makes love to him, pretending it’s her husband. He just slips farther and farther away. Each day she tells herself that today will be the day she’ll hand him the papers. Silly, how a little stack of papers can hold the key to the end of this lie, this lack of a marriage. Maybe some day she’ll do it, but that would mean giving up hope. Hope is all she has.

  2. I don’t know how many times i thought a telescope was a sniper looking to kill me. God damn the soviets and there mind bending tricks. Go Bison. Oh ya, all snipers should die. Jeff, you rock even thouch you make wierd noises on the ground while people are crying and dying. God bless Americaa

  3. I agree with tony completely. Except I don’t hope God Damns the soviets, after all without them we wouldnt’ have snow right? and we all know how miles Miles loves snow.
    Jeff, you rock even though you…wait tony already said that, well you rock because of your willingness to play cribbage at all times of the day, at leisure, during class, hell even at work.
    Miles you rock because you make lil 12 yr old kids feel important, “I am the family protector cause dad left after he found out i was conceived, get the telescope, we’re being spied on. and if we could afford a gun, get that, too…”

  4. Ay Chihuahua. My family is so strange… and yet I could love them no other way.

    Hope you’re doing well Miles.

    Bryce, I liked you gambling post gag a week or two ago. It was funny.

  5. I know why Lindsey is the only one I have seen on the Deans list lately :ponder:

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