Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Betwixt Shakespeare.

They had come to an agreement - it was a thick book and he could be sweet. Hounslow was far, Victoria was near. I'll bring mine somedays.
But you don't like carrying books? She said.
I don't mind.
And you don't like coming to classes either.
I'll come, when you come.

He found it years later; somewhere within the pages of the green hard hardcover of the Norton Shakespeare - between The Rape of Lucrece and A Lover's Complaint - she had hid a little note.

The way you touched me --
Touch me like that tonight too?

5 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. In Life, as in Literature, some answers are more beautiful unanswered.

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  2. Do you write about her because you still love her?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I write about her because she deserves writing about.

      As to your other question elsewhere - yes, I do. Thank you for your lovely compliment. I'll try not to stop.

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  3. How strange I forgot the question I asked? Sigh, I'm clueless now. Good! That makes me smile you won't stop writing. Take care, P.

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