by Ethan Efird


He knows as he gazes deeply into her deep blue eyes that he has never seen a more beautiful creature in all his life. Her hair tied back in a long waving pony-tail the color of the sun, bright yellow with tints of red. His heart beats faster and faster in his chest as the soft summer day's breeze blows through the open kitchen window catches her hair and swats it playfully back and forth like a kitten and a string. Back and forth, back and forth. He knows now that he is being hypnotized, and he loves every moment of it.

She reaches a slender pale hand out toward him, however he brushes it away. It hurts too terribly already he thinks as she reaches out to him again. For some reason, she seems to sense his thoughts and looks at him puzzled. Her bottom lip sticking out in a playful, yet hurt pout as if to say "What do you mean?"

What he means is that its over. They go there separate ways from here. He knows that it will hurt in fact, it already does. Better for it to hurt a little now though than a lot further down the road. At least that is his line of thinking. He's been thinking about this for a long time now. Knowing that this day would come, dreading it, in much the same way that a mother knows and dreads that one day her children will leave home. One prepares for the event for years, but truly could one ever be prepared? He doesn't think so. No.

He has told her all of this and has watched as the tears began to well up in those beautiful eyes, the eyes he once became lost in for hours. He watched as the tears spilled out and made their way course across the tender muscles of her cheeks. Sliding slowly downward, sometimes getting hung in the dimples that he always found so attractive. He is a bastard, he is a bastard for making her cry. He knows this and has long ago excepted the fact. On more than one occasion he has literally beat himself up over the very thought of making her cry. And here he is on the verge of tears himself, but still dry eyed watching as her slow tears work up to a gasping, jerking sob.

He stands there in awe of his own sadness, still however unable to shed a single tear. And why should he? This was his goal all along, he knew what was going to happen the minute he said "I do". He was young and he was in love. What is a man though, but a miserable little pile of secrets. He knew even then that it would not last between them. It was only two years later when the "love" began to fall away, for love and lust are two easily confused words. He knows now on that day, in that church with the flowers and candles. Her in her white dress with the veil covering her face as if to say "Would you pull it away and expose me to the world?" and he in his midnight black tuxedo.

So black then that it now matches the blackness in his heart as he turns his back on her and walks out the door to the house they both once shared in "love". He leaves her behind, he leaves him behind although he does not know it. He leaves his family behind. His beautiful wife with her oceanic blue eyes and sunshine blond hair. He leaves her and the son who has been growing inside her for the last month. The son he has no idea exists. He walks out the door into blinding summer sun that seems to offset the dark deed he has just committed.

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