Monograph of a Modern Romantic

Part 2

The first couple of weeks were great, things moved quickly and naturally, I soon found myself introducing her to my friends whom I consider family, I showed her my life and all aspects of it.

I shared with her something deep and sacred to me, something which at the time only two other people in my life knew about, a secret I had been keeping for as long as I could remember, my hopes and dreams of becoming a writer.

We were at the beach, lying down on a towel, my head rested comfortably on her thin yet thick thighs; I began to speak about life, my struggles, my past, my aspirations. It was easy to talk to her, I couldn't help but open myself up like a book for her to read.

We spoke about many things and I told her about an idea for a book I wanted to write. "Wow, I would actually read that." She said. It felt good to have her support, it felt like she was in my corner; the corner of the guy who had been whaled on over a dozen times, so I decided, I would be in her corner.

I was there when she needed someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on. I was there when she was feeling lonely and needed attention. I was there for her because she was my lover, my lover who seemed to want more from me, and I began to want more from her.

Her brain was sharp like mine allowing us to connect in a way I don't often connect with others, we understood each other, we connected instantaneously almost as some sort of cosmic lovers would. But what we had was far from cosmic, what we had was as mundane as a life without love