She was all of 18. In college. Had recently lost her Dad. An autumn leaf. She loved to read. Had always liked poetry. Too sheltered an upbringing. Suddenly on her own with her rose tints still on. Her world had revolved around her dad. She was getting to know her mom. She clung to his memories. She lived in a dream. She continued her love for poetry. A whimsical girl not ready to be real.
He was 32. A charmer. A poet. A lost soul. Married with a kid. An accomplished wife - lively, beautiful and ambitious.
He was looking for validation. She was looking for love. She put his words and him on a pedestal. She did not see right from wrong. She did not want to believe in conventions. She was in love. Love knows no bars at 18. She felt like a rebel. She felt he needed her. She believed his marriage was coming apart. She was ready to give up all.
He was cautious. He was playing. He was proving a point to his wife. He was rising from the ashes of his insecurity. He wanted it all. She wanted just love. She fought with her mother. she called her practical, devoid of emotions, a robot without feelings. She didn't care that her mother had no more tears to shed. She was too full of her love. Love can be selfish, it can be all consuming, it can be ruthless, it can also be timid, double edged, sneering.
An ordinary day. A phone call. Not from him. But a friend. News that her calls to him are the joke of the office. He plays recorded phone conversations for all to listen. He massages his ego. He flaunts the love of a young girl carelessly on his sleeve. He feels like a man. She talks to him on this. He evades her. He has no answers. Her tints come crashing. For the first time she looks at the sun. for the first time she allows her eyes to get used to the blinding light of truth. She feels used and cheap. She feels dirty and exploited. She feels alone and lost.
One last meeting. She has to start afresh. She needs no answers, no justifications. She just needs closure. failing steps to a house that was once so dear. The bell that often was rung in joy, today rings in its shrill pitch. The face that was so loved, today stands devoid of its charm. An ordinary man. A thunderous slap. A flood of tears, Raging eyes. Silence and the door closes. An era closes too. Innocence is lost at the wrong door. A lesson for life.
A very common tale. But the hurt is real. The saddest part being that she was no kid. The story cannot be therefore categorized under the various forms of abuse. The story is afloat for the readers to decide. She was 18 and he was 32.
He was 32. A charmer. A poet. A lost soul. Married with a kid. An accomplished wife - lively, beautiful and ambitious.
He was looking for validation. She was looking for love. She put his words and him on a pedestal. She did not see right from wrong. She did not want to believe in conventions. She was in love. Love knows no bars at 18. She felt like a rebel. She felt he needed her. She believed his marriage was coming apart. She was ready to give up all.
He was cautious. He was playing. He was proving a point to his wife. He was rising from the ashes of his insecurity. He wanted it all. She wanted just love. She fought with her mother. she called her practical, devoid of emotions, a robot without feelings. She didn't care that her mother had no more tears to shed. She was too full of her love. Love can be selfish, it can be all consuming, it can be ruthless, it can also be timid, double edged, sneering.
An ordinary day. A phone call. Not from him. But a friend. News that her calls to him are the joke of the office. He plays recorded phone conversations for all to listen. He massages his ego. He flaunts the love of a young girl carelessly on his sleeve. He feels like a man. She talks to him on this. He evades her. He has no answers. Her tints come crashing. For the first time she looks at the sun. for the first time she allows her eyes to get used to the blinding light of truth. She feels used and cheap. She feels dirty and exploited. She feels alone and lost.
One last meeting. She has to start afresh. She needs no answers, no justifications. She just needs closure. failing steps to a house that was once so dear. The bell that often was rung in joy, today rings in its shrill pitch. The face that was so loved, today stands devoid of its charm. An ordinary man. A thunderous slap. A flood of tears, Raging eyes. Silence and the door closes. An era closes too. Innocence is lost at the wrong door. A lesson for life.
A very common tale. But the hurt is real. The saddest part being that she was no kid. The story cannot be therefore categorized under the various forms of abuse. The story is afloat for the readers to decide. She was 18 and he was 32.
