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?


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

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

    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.

  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.