The first time I fell in love, I think I was about 7. It was fleeting. Some girl that paid me attention. I think for a very long time that is all I wanted. My father was away on military excursions, my mother busy with mending our clothes and furniture to last longer than it possibly could, and my sister was off at an academy for being too smart for her own good.
I was at basic studies, and a girl gave me a flower. Not knowing what to do, I took it and ran away. I was afraid she would decide to take it back. Looking back, perhaps I was truly making a deranged statement about my home life.
I never saw her again. But I kept the flower for as long as I could. And then it vanished from beside my bed.
I suppose she eventually caught up with me.
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