The expectation is always better than the reality. So, when he asked me on a date I reluctantly accepted, not wanting to ruin the fantasy I had built of him. I had spent an evening watching him, memorizing his gorgeous features, fantasizing. A week later here we were, sitting across the table from one another, his sapphire blue eyes trained on me, lips pursed into a heart shape, his turn to memorize every one of my features. I was intimidated.

His mouth curved upward into that now familiar grin, forming apple cheeks, and I was mesmerized by the lush red lips and the thought of how they would feel on mine. His lips seemed to dance when he spoke, his deep bass drawl sending fire coursing through me. His words didn’t matter as much as how his voice made me feel; tingly, breathless, alive. I noticed that when he spoke his eyes twinkled like stars, his hands moved animatedly and his voice came alive like a storyteller. He was all in, no holds barred, absolutely captivating. I sucked in a deep breath and smiled. Sometimes the reality is better than the expectation.

Steam wafted from the bathtub as I dipped my toes into the water, testing the temperature. It had been a long week and I needed to wash it away. I sunk into the deep, hot water and closed my eyes. It didn’t take long for my mind to wander to him. My bottom lip began to quiver and I fought back tears. It seemed more like seven years than the seven days that he had been gone. Our final fight had been spectacular and the hatred we spewed that night had lingered in the air of our shared apartment for days after he walked out. Every night I waited for a phone call with an apology that never came. It didn’t occur to me that he might be waiting for the same thing.

A lone tear slipped from my eye, snaking down my cheek and holding tightly on the edge of my jaw, defying gravity, a stubborn streak to rival my own. When I finally felt it lose its grip and drop it was as if a dam let loose within me. Everything I had kept bottled up was suddenly unleashed and wave after wave of emotion hit me with the force of the churning ocean in a hurricane. I relived every moment, every joke, every smile, the laughter, the love, the passion, every kiss, every touch, the tears, the anger, every raised voice, every fight, the fear, the resentment. I pulled my knees to my chest, bowed my head and sobbed, my salty tears mixing with the bath water, unaware of space or time.

An involuntary shiver ran through me, I assumed from my thoughts of him, of us, of our failure, until I realized the water had grown lukewarm and my skin was shriveled. I slowly rose, goose pimples forming on my skin, and wrapped a towel around myself protectively. The chill reached my bones and I couldn’t decide if I was shivering from the cold or the pain. No matter, the cure was the same for both – my well-worn pajamas and a stiff glass of whiskey.

I watched him across the room, careful to avert my eyes whenever his gaze moved anywhere near me. I’d been secretly admiring him all night. Who could blame me? His chestnut hair was just long enough to add a bit of danger and mystery to an already intriguing man. Hypnotic blue eyes were perfectly contrasted by the dark fringe that framed his face. He had a distinctively strong nose with nostrils that flared when he laughed and a square jawline that was emphasized when he smiled. His strong facial features matched his sturdy build. He wasn’t muscular in the traditional sense, but I sensed that underneath his well-fit button-down shirt and blazer, his arms and chest and torso would feel firm and solid under my fingers.

He took a drink from his hi-ball glass and his head moved in my direction, forcing me to look away. Nervously lifting the champagne flute to my lips, I subconsciously licked them before drinking. I paused a few moments to be safe before returning my gaze to him. He was smiling at the woman next to him and a brief thunderbolt of envy shot through me before I got lost again in his eyes. They shimmered like blue sapphires when he smiled and his closed-mouth grin made his cheeks look like ripe apples; the effect was genuinely enchanting.

His pink lips were full with a prominent cupid’s bow that drew my focus every time I looked at him. I couldn’t help but stare. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him – surely his lips would be soft and moist, but firm and full of purpose. I imagined that in contrast to the rough scruff of his stubbled, unshaven face and felt a warmth build inside me. Another long, slow sip of champagne helped to calm my senses as I looked around the room. So far, I had been left alone, allowed to indulge in my fantasy world.

As I glanced back in his direction I saw he was moving, walking towards me, his eyes now locked onto mine. I froze in place and felt my hands tremble in anticipation long before he reached me. All I could do was watch, wait and wonder as he made his slow approach. When we finally stood almost toe to toe, icy blue eyes pierced through me. My fingers grasped tightly around the glass in my hand. The corners of his lips turned slightly upward, forming small, red apple cheeks, and his eyes took on a devilish sparkle. A deep Southern bass voice rumbled from his chest.

“Darlin’, I’ve been watchin’ you watch me all night.” My jaw fell slack with the shock of his words. The champagne flute slipped from my fingers and in one smooth movement he captured the glass and my hand in his own.  His smile opened fully, lips forming a perfect plump heart shape, to reveal brilliant white teeth. A soft sigh escaped my mouth before I could stop myself and he let out a gentle chuckle. The way he looked at me I didn’t even feel self-conscious. He glanced down at the empty glass that we both held, then one eyebrow shot up. “Would you like another?” I was afraid to speak, afraid anything that came out of my mouth would be mere unintelligible noise, so I nodded instead. As he took my hand and led me away, he stopped, turned and flashed another radiant smile. “I’m Christian.”

I looked down lovingly at the bundle in my arms, 6 pounds and 8 ounces of heaven wrapped in a blue blanket. A blue knit cap covered the soft, dark fuzz on the head of my newborn son. His pink face and miniature hands were the only things visible from the swaddle of blankets. I gently ran my fingertip along each of his tiny fingers, marveling at their microscopic size. When I stroked his palm, his fingers curled around mine and my heart surged. I looked beyond his misshapen head and slightly squashed nose and focused on his pursed lips, curled into the shape of a heart just like his father’s. My breath caught in my throat when his eyes slowly fluttered open, revealing the blue pools that were so familiar, but lost to me forever. A tear slipped down my cheek. I knew that even though Spencer was gone, he had left behind a piece of himself that I could hold onto forever.

I didn’t want to go to the party. I knew I would run into him and I knew he would bring her. My replacement. How could he move on so soon when I still hadn’t filled his side of the closet?

You were my world. The sun rose and fell on you. My eyes reflected the goodness and the light that I saw in you. You were everything to me. And I was just an afterthought to you. It was simple. You didn’t love me the way that I loved you. In fact, you didn’t love me at all.

He came into my life like a soft spring rain, calm, refreshing, a new beginning of sorts – and left with the force of a late summer hurricane, strong, deadly, leaving nothing but devastation in his wake.

The way you looked at me, it was as if you could see into my soul. When you touched me I felt shock waves travel through my skin. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to allow someone to get so close. Loving you was such exquisite torture.

I stood against the wall holding a glass of wine in my right hand, my left hand resting between the wall and the small of my back. My legs were crossed at the ankles and now I wish I’d been brave enough to wear the three-inch raspberry heels that would have set-off the silver scoop neck dress I wore to the fundraiser. Staring across the room I saw him, my kryptonite, Alexander Jenkins. No matter. To him I was unseen. A fly on the wall so to speak. After a very casual encounter eight months earlier it was clear to me that I would only fall prey to his deadly charm and love-em-and-leave-em ways. Still, a girl must hope to be noticed, admired, desired. Even if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell it will lead anywhere.

I continued my unabashed visual assault on his perfect body. Jesus. It was as if Adonis himself had passed his genes along. His dark blonde hair was long enough to run his hands through – a subconscious habit that left him with tousled looking after-sex hair. Sapphire blue eyes that were no doubt plucked from the heavens. Perfect facial features that were the envy of every plastic surgeon on the Upper East Side. He had a rigorous pre-dawn work-out schedule that kept him looking more like a superhero and less like a business savant. My mouth did it’s half wolfish grin thing just when he turned and caught my eye and my heart skipped a beat.

He locked eyes with me, returning a devilish grin of his own, and strolled over to where I stood. “Victoria, you’re looking,” he took more than a moment to look me up then down then up again, “scrumptious.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Alex.” I tried to keep my voice even, sipped from my wine to steel my nerves.

“What are you doing standing here on the fringes? A gorgeous woman like you should be the very center of attention.” He took my hand and led me forward into the crowd. Whispering into my ear, he gave me shivers. “I’ve missed you darling. Eight months I’ve looked for you. You’re quite the mystery. Don’t think I’ll let you slip away that easily this time.” I smiled with a mixture of apprehension and gratitude.

The last few days I haven’t been capable of stringing together more than a few words, maybe a sentence at most. Every futile attempt has ended in a puddle of frustration. I struggle to find a story at every turn. So I give up today and look forward to tomorrow with hope that I will find my inspiration. Perhaps like a butterfly, if I give up the chase and just sit still, it will alight on my shoulder.

I’ll let the porch light shine just a few weeks more. Maybe he’ll return in the middle of the night. I won’t ask him where he’s been or why he left. I’ll take his hand and lead him to the bed and show him how much I’ve missed him.

There are infinite ways to love me.

But only one way to capture my heart.

“Where were you last night?” I heard his voice as I tip-toed across the living room floor in the early dawn hours. I thought I had been quiet when I came in the door at 5 am. I took off my red stilettos before I entered our apartment. The sun had yet to break the eastern horizon and his alarm wouldn’t sound for another 45 minutes. I thought I would be safely in bed by then. Until I heard his gravelly voice call out from across the darkened room.

I stalled for time, searching my mind for an excuse. “Can you be more specific?” Standing still where I had frozen when I first heard his voice, my heart raced with fear. I had come close to being caught before and the feeling had been exhilarating but this, this was something altogether terrifying.

“How much more specific shall I be?” His voice sounded calm on the surface, but I detected the razor’s edge on his words. “You went out with Margo and Jillian at 8 last night. It’s 5 am and you’re sneaking in the door holding your heels in your hands. You look like you don’t want to get caught. The question is, what have I caught you doing?”

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could just make out his face with the moonlight through the window dancing off his profile. He was classically handsome, with short brown hair and green eyes. His face looked almost as if it had been carved of marble by one of the masters, but had enough flaws to make him human – relatable. The stubble on his face was amazingly sexy and, were it not for the circumstances, I might have crawled to him on my hands and knees and allowed him to take what he wanted.

This was a damn fine time to decide he was worth staying for. Lie or truth? Which would better work to my advantage? “Margo had way too many. I took her home and she was sick. Everywhere. I stayed to hold her head while she was sick, cleaned her up, tucked her in bed then cleaned her house.” I made a mental note to talk to Margo as soon as possible. Crossing the room, I knelt before him and stroked his thigh. “I took off my shoes because I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry if I worried you.” As I laid my head in his lap I closed my eyes, the flash of guilt tearing through me like a knife. I’d learned my lesson. This time.

I float on a sea of emotions. Untethered, anchorless, tossed about on the waves. Powerless, I ache for calm but only get caught in the swells. An endless swirling vortex from which there is no escape.

I was crossing Haight Street when I saw him. Sitting next to her in the café. A younger, blonder version of me. Their bodies were angled towards each other, heads bent, nearly touching. Her hand rested on his knee and he brushed her long tresses back as he whispered into her ear; something funny because her head fell back and she laughed. I was too far to hear but I imagined a melodious tinkling sound and a lightning bolt of jealousy shot through my heart.

I stood on the street corner for minutes, only partially hidden from his line of sight. As if I wanted to be caught. I wanted to stop, I wanted to walk away, but I couldn’t stop staring. It was like I was looking at myself ten years earlier. Sitting with him, in the same café, listening to the same whispers, and laughing. Most of all I remember the laughing. It doesn’t happen often to me anymore.

His hand closed on the front door knob. “I’m tired of fighting. It’s the same thing over and over. We never get past it.” Even though I knew his words were true, something in me still wanted to fight. I couldn’t let go of whatever stood between us.

He slowly opened the door and I felt the chill of the night air seep into the room. I turned my back in defiance, as if daring him. “If you walk out that door, don’t come back.” My voice wavered slightly with apprehension. The silence was killing me.

I slowly turned around and he was gone.

Hopeful is a word
that hasn’t crossed my mind
in a very long time.
Doomed, gloomy, despair.
Morose, dejected, beaten.
These more accurately reflect
what I feel deep inside.
It’s as if a light inside me
has gone out, leaving me to wonder
if it will ever return.

Midnight begins a new year.
It’s really nothing special
except what we make it in our minds.
Just another day, another turn of the page.
Perhaps midnight is the time
when my light begins to burn again.

At least I’m hopeful.

Daily Prompt – Expert

I’m no expert, but I still believe in love. The butterfly-in-your-stomach, stay awake all night talking, goofy smile on your face kinda love that makes you feel like you’re sixteen again and the boy in your algebra class maybe smiled at you when you passed your tests forward. The kinda love where you sit in the movie waiting for him to hold your hand and finally pretend to grab something out of your purse just so your hand brushes his. The kinda love where you confide to your best friend that this one might be THE ONE and start looking at wedding dresses in magazines.

I’m no expert but I still believe in love. The bottom line, spreadsheet can we afford to live together kinda love. The rational, practical are we compatible kinda love. The sensible kinda love that asks do we have common goals. The reasonable kinda love that anticipates what the future might hold and prepares for any circumstance.

I’m no expert but I believe for love to be successful and lasting you need all of the above. The practical and the whimsical. The rational and the breathtaking. The sensible and the thrilling. Packaged together, this love is surely the most durable kinda love.