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Forlorn

It was raining outside of her car, but I didn’t want to get out. I didn’t want to go home. I couldn’t bear the thought of stopping at my place and having that urge to kiss her and not be able to. It’s horrible for the both of us. When we stop, time in the car stands still, our hearts skip a beat and we gulp, waiting for the inevitable. But the inevitable is impossible for her. And so the inevitable becomes me getting out of the car, tearing my eyes away from hers and walking into my house, smiling and pretending it doesn’t hurt. But tonight, I couldn’t make that depressive walk just yet. It would hurt too much.

“Do we have to go back yet?” I ask, trying not to sound like a hurt puppy.

“No.” She does the same.

I had no idea where we should go, only that my house wasn’t anywhere I could go at this point. Not for dread of anything there, but for dread of not being here. With her.

She breaks the silence this time, “Where is it you want to go?”

The rest if this short story can be read in the book God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut. It is available digitally and in print.

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Peter said…
Beautiful. Excellent.
11:05 PM
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