The Letter.

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One hundred and sixteen words. 

More of a note than a letter, but in slightly more than a hundred words my life changed forever.

We were made for each other.

We both smoked the same brand, preferred single malt whisky and drove fast cars.

More often than not he took me from behind and afterwards we would smoke and talk.

He never rushed away as some men might; he caressed my skin and told me the things I wanted to hear.

He loved the small of my back, and I loved his powerful thighs.

His smile gave me butterflies in my tummy, and I knew his walk from two hundred metres away.

He smelled like three in one oil and iron filings, and I loved it.

He could go from boiler suit to dinner jacket in the blink of an eye.

He danced like a Latin lover and walked like a man who knew where he was going.

In most situations, I could exude an air of confidence and sophistication, but when he was around, I turned into an elegant puppy.

Heaven was holding his hand and listening to him talk.

No one believed me when I told them that he was a boilermaker welder. They thought that he was too suave to be a tradesman.

I had an expensive education, but he was way better read than I. He could name all the Greek and Roman gods in the same way that most people could name the players in their football team.

He wrote poetry, didn’t own a television and he would make love to me for as long as I needed him to.

Powerful hands held me gently, and although his hands were hard from working with steel, the backs of his hands were as soft as a baby.

I believed that I could hold on to him and maybe that was my mistake.

The words on the page were gentle but precise. 

He no longer loved me.

I’ve had lovers before but never like him.

I had my chance, and I let him slip away.

I can’t think anymore, I need to sleep.

.

Illustration from a painting by Jack Vettriano.
Enjoy my work. Then buy me a coffee?

Enjoy my work. Then buy me a coffee?

21 thoughts on “The Letter.

    • Glad you enjoyed it Gina, and thank you for the compliment.
      As I said in another comment, I wrote this when I was not well and I have no memory of writing it….. but it does sound like me. As to why he stopped loving her I’m beat. She sounds like a heck of a woman and she obviously loves him but I guess the heart wants what the heart wants. Maybe they will find each other again in a few years, or maybe not. Do you have any thoughts?
      Terry

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      • I can’t imagine why.

        Perhaps as he glanced across the bar and first set eyes on her, her sheer presence struck him like no other women he’d ever seen before. She was tall, elegant and very self assured, and he couldn’t quite decide if she was pretty or neutral, and concluded that she was simply attractive to him, and she mesmerized him.

        Then in a momentary flash, when they locked eyes, he thanked God that he was seated. There is nothing more embarrassing than a man’s jewels doing the grand salute in a public place. Being seated gave him time to settle Him down. His reaction to her was suprising, she wasn’t the sort of woman he would’ve ever imagined reacting this much to.

        She approached him at the bar, he could feel his heart pounding on his chest, feeling incredulous that she’d made the first move, because on any other night, he would be the one doing the approach. It made him feel in control this way.

        As the weeks turned into months, time spent together was fun until one day he just didn’t feel it anymore. That initial attraction he’d once felt had faded and gone away.

        Why? How could this happen?

        He didn’t love her anymore (if that’s what it was) because he had explored her completely and now he was bored. Bored? Yes. Bored. It must be that love did not knock on his door when he first met her, and that Sexual Attraction smiled upon him instead.

        She loves him. He knows it. It’s going to break her heart. To spare me from from mumbling excuses to her questions, it’s best to leave her with a note. Short and sweet. I’m just not man enough to face her.

        I’m such a prick.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. so many corners for the reader to fill in based on his or her own experience and prejudices. it’s good to leave the reader with questions. this is also a good exercise in writing from the female perspective, a practice that’s crucial and that most successful male writers work hard at. a danger, however, is that a male writer creates perfect female characters based solely on his own personal expectations. it’s fun to encounter nasty and conflicted female characters, too.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks dm. I may find it difficult to write ‘nasty and conflicted female characters’, for I have yet to encounter them in my ‘real’ life……. he says smiling widely.
      On a side note: I wrote this a week or so ago. As I’ve mentioned before, things have been a bit rough around here for several weeks. One day the fog cleared a bit and I wrote like a crazy person [no pun intended] and this was one of the stories. I looked at it again yesterday and I have no memory of writing it……. it sounded like me but I don’t remember writing any of it……. it freaked me out a bit. Has that ever happened to you?
      Terry

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  2. Pingback: I don’t remember writing it. | spidersweb

    • Thanks for the comment Lori. It is a bit sad. In real life it seems easier if there is someone to blame, but who do you blame if you person falls out of love? I feel sorry for both the main characters, they had something going on.
      Terry

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  3. You know me by now and you know how much I love your work and this is not exception. I read the other comments and Gina put such a good take on your story. After I finish reading your pieces I like to study the painting. Vettriano is an amazing artist and your stories compliment them. Thinking of the story and looking at the painting three thoughts came to me. (1) How much I love your words…’He smelled like three in one oil and iron filings’, so you, so original.
    (2) She needs to sleep…I wanted to tell her to put the cigarette out first…then…(3)…the ending…she didn’t put the cigarette out and burnt herself to death!

    I hope you don’t mind my ending but I am weird at the best of times and these things just pop into my head.

    Keep writing to keep me happy 🙂

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    • You are a tonic for my soul.
      I love your ending and I love that Gina felt inspired to write her version. She has written a story on her own site which I quite enjoyed…. I got credit for inspiring her…… isn’t that the nicest thing anyone could say about you?
      Terry

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    • You know you are always welcome. We are open 24/7, the light is always on. If I’m not around just make yourself a cuppa and get comfortable, I’ll be along eventually.
      Terry

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