Last night the moon was a waxing crescent, that peeked between clouds. The night breeze felt cool against my skin, as me and Michael walked home from the small bistro where we'd dined. There is something very bewitching about a late night stroll through the streets of London, when you've just had a couple of glasses of wine and the one you love has put his arm around you. I couldn't help, but feel like we were drifting through a haze, through a deep fog that softened all sounds and left us alone in a city, where you are never alone. So I looked to the sky, looked to the moon, a pale silver-white sickle that hanged in a pool of darkness, and then turned to meet Michael's eyes. He stopped in his step and looked down on me, all broad shoulders, and stubbly beard and deep green eyes that will catch your breath even if you haven't gazed into them a million times, and just smiled. He didn't speak. Didn't move. It was almost like he'd stopped breathing. In that moment the moon glittered only for us and we were all alone in the world.
When he kissed me, my mind froze and my heart forgot to beat. Who needs a beating heart, when you could have everything you've ever wished for in a single kiss?
Today we slept in late and Michael was late for work. I fear I may be to blame for that, but I do not feel guilty at all. Maybe I'm not as good of a person as I've hoped to be after all. Sigh. Opportunities and choices. The heart works in mysterious ways and so does fate, or destiny, or whatever you may call her. In the end we are who we choose to become. It's a choice we make constantly, every day and every moment, with every breath we take.
Opportunities and choices.
In case you're wondering, I've been reading a little too much Anne Bishop recently. Her duet of books "The Landscapes of Ephemera" have served as a wonderful inspiration for me, so much that I might have picked up some of Glorianna Belladonna, the title character,'s speech patterns.
Opportunities and choices.
Domestic cleaning duties today involved taking down the curtains for a "clean sweep" and giving the living room a little do over, mostly to freshen the scenery, if I do say so myself, and add some colors. Michael loves blue, and green, and silver, so I was going for that. In my mind, I had this lovely picture of a candle-lit room, the scent of sage in the air, warm dinner and some music to play with a lover's heart-strings...
Then the doorbell rang and Miss Picksby, the nosy spinster who lives at the end of the street, rushed in the house, right through the door and past me, and settled in an arm-chair, as if she was home. I rolled my eyes, for the little good that brought me. Miss Picksby took in a long breath, looked around the room as if she was seeing it for the first time, made a sneaky comment about certain housewives' end of tenancy cleaning abilities and their desperate need for professional help (a remark which I kindly ignored), and then let in "the elephant in the room", as she so poetically put it...
Her brother was about to get married. To a woman Miss Picksby neither knew, nor approved of. So she wanted to put a hold on the wedding.
And strangely she thought I was the only one who could help her.
Opportunities and choices.
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