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Eight Years

Vist Natascha Tallowin's Profile

Eight Years

Never meet the ones you watch.

She writes.

Watching doesn’t hurt.

Watching excites.

She invented the soul of someone perfect.

Who, on paper, gave life to memories, stole daisies and placed them in her hair, stood for too long in bookshops and wore tweed.

Someone who looked stoically brilliant in candle light.

He disappointed her.

A chance meeting, several drinks too many and the carefully manicured fictional facade crumpled

He scares her now.

A hundred times he has died in words

A hundred times the meeting has been halfheartedly re-written.

A mind eclipsed by imagination always forgets.

But reality flaunts her power and cracks her blinding whip all too strongly.

Leaving the shell of a man she created

Masquerading as someone too painful to love.


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