Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Justine - Fragment #1

I first met her at a party. The host, a good friend of mine and sometimes drinking buddy, led me toward her. He told me her name was Justine and I reached out to shake her hand. I remembered that her faint paint splattered hands were soft. She wore a white shirt with jeans and her eyes took in everything at once. I remembered that moment as, several weeks later, we lay in her bed while it rained outside of her apartment. I still couldn't believe I . . . I wasn't a lesbian. Neither was she, she told me when she caressed my cheek while flute music from Japan played in the background. Her eyes stared right into my soul and I couldn't look away. She said she wanted to kiss me. I let her. She claimed later that she fell in love in with me when I met her at the party. I touched her face then her lips. She told me where she came from and I knew she was serious. She had to have been from there - how else could she explain her eyes that changed colour every few seconds? She said she waited for the right moment to meet me. I asked her if she was my Muse. She rolled me on my back. The rain continued to fall.

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