son of a preacher
by lovelaurie
On yet another unassuming afternoon in the farmers market I met up with my friend. Our conversation revolved around heartaches and heartbreaks. His latest lady friend seemed up to up and disappear only to reappear rolling around with another male, explanation absent.
The fragment of the story is familiar to many. Recently I had experienced a similar thing and I am still scratching my head at what happened?
We met each other other unexpectedly late in the summer and of course, I was not interested at all but something about the way he smelled and the way he smiled all star-eyed at me got me all curious. He brushed my leg as I cocked my head thinking who is this guy and what does he want? Later that night we were flying down Fraser in the middle of the night. The pavement was warm and steady providing a calm backdrop to the sparkles of the street lit sky. We rode hard and fast and when he turned back he underestimated my speed, as I was right behind him. I screamed his name as I hurtled into the air, over my bike and over his. Spread on the pavement, my adrenaline peaked and it was downhill from there.
Causally our little affair got exciting. I liked the way his collar smelled and his small affections. Text messages gave me butterflies and excited to be in his arms. We would lay in a dark room with a low-lit lamp circling the corner, exchanging worldviews and ideologies of people and places. Low music filled the spaces in between his fingers as he played with the lengths of my long blonde hair; my fingers smoothed the creases of his wrinkled forehead. We talked as if time stopped still. I didn’t want it to end. The peacefulness of his prose made me feel good about the world, those candied phrases come so easy from the son of a preacher.
However our affair took an unforeseen turn. I remember one week the ease and affection grew cold and hard. Texts ceased their command; the butterflies in my stomach sat idle and asked, “what gives?” One day I approached it and asked point blank if something had changed. Did he meet someone new? He responded, “No I still feel the same as when I met you”. Later that night I saw him out and I knew like silk ribbon falling through my finger tips, he was gone and I would never see him again.
No matter how I try to put him out of my mind I think about him. I hear the clicks and creaks in the cranks from the crash.
love laurie 
Let me tell you a story. One day like many others I was crammed into a sweat box with like minds. Kitten corner 2 me was you. When I entered the box you got my attention by laughing at my insecurities which didn’t feel great. We did our work as we always do. In mid twist on posture 26 my gaze landed on the door. The reflection in the door was you. In half twist holding a lock of your hair you gave yourself double chins, looked at your split ends and bugged your eyes out. I buried my giggle smile in my arm 2 control myself. We inhaled and exhaled and that was it. Melting on the floor all I could think of was the beautiful vulnerable moment I witnessed that was so real, so pure and so sexy. I looked at you differently after that day. I hate fake and that was not. If you and I are meant to play, guess my name and I will respond.
I can ALMOST see you vividly in my mind. I did not want to practice that day, but forced myself into that room. I remember posting up close to your area because of the way you looked at me as I entered the room. Like a moth to a flame. I can not put a finger to your name or image or any resemblance…
I can tell how interesting it would be to read your diary . . .
:-p