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It was like she told him once . . . she never had a chance.  She was going to love him.  From the first moments there was a bond.  She had been so innocent back then.  It seemed like forever ago.  She reminisced and lingered over thoughts of him . . . his face, his voice, his soul. 

It was like she told him once . . . she never had a chance.  From the start, she knew she was going to love him.  She didn’t know how she was going to love him.  Still, she knew.  What she never imagined was just how much and how many ways she was going to be in love. 

It was like she told him once . . . she never had a chance.  There was an irresistible chemistry from the very first.  She hadn’t experienced such an attraction before and it bowled her over.  She had no defense against the rush of feeling and sense of serendipity. All she thought she knew flew out the window. 

It was like she told him once . . . she never had a chance.

She sat staring at ten perfectly formed and painted fingernails.  She had opted for a soft, pink color in concession to the warming spring weather.  With a smile she did not really feel, she thanked and paid the woman seated across from her.  The substantial tip elicited a bright and cheery, “Thank you, Lady and you come again.  Okay?”  She simply nodded and exited the small nail shop that mimicked twenty others along this stretch of the boulevard.  She had stopped in on a whim looking for a distraction as well as any reason to delay returning home. 

They were fighting and she had no desire to go another ten rounds at the moment.  She thought she remembered a little espresso stand around the corner, she had frequented years ago.  A bit of an old-fashioned, internet café with the most delightful white chocolate –  white coffee concoction.  She felt like indulging herself and they usually had a few computers available.  She didn’t even have her laptop.  She had been so upset when she left that it hadn’t crossed her mind until much later that she’d left it behind. 

It was the second fight in as many days.  She hated it when he would goad her into losing her composure, then step back all smug and in control only making her look more the raving lunatic.  Last night had been so very bad.  She was humiliated at having let herself be lured into the same old trap.  Why was it always she that ending up screaming hateful things in a fit of rage?  How was it he so played her . . . a virtuoso.  Before it got that far today, she had grabbed her clutch and beat it out of there, pleading a need to complete some phantom chore. 

After all it was a beautiful day and why should she allow him to ruin that for her.  A genuine smile curved her glossy, pink lips.  The bounce came back into her step as she made her way to the coffee shop.  She could enjoy the hot brew and catch up on some long past due e-mail replies.  She was slowly feeling more her usual upbeat self with the prospect. 

Once she had concluded her transaction with the barista, she scanned the room cup in hand for an available computer.  Her breath caught when she saw him sitting alone in the corner frantically beating on the keyboard of the laptop in front of him.  Quickly, she turned back to the counter barely able to resist the urge to flee the suddenly tiny space.  Had he seen her?  No, he was obviously engrossed with his passion.  

A knowing smile erupted as she sensed his gaze upon her.  She leisurely turned to face him.  Her calm returned to her as her eyes met his.  Moving like a feline predator, she gracefully closed the open space between them.  Once before him, her laughter broke the awkward silence.  In a sultry voice all she said was . . .  “Been waiting long?”   His deep baritone chuckle filled the room and he replied, “You’re late.”

She loves him
Heart and soul
Cliché as that may seem

Still she struggles
Older woman
He, a younger man

She of late
Feels her age
His as yet not showing

Should she fear
She’s lost her heart
His youth beyond her grasp

Sometimes she thinks
To run away
To be with someone senior

What should he desire
To replace this classic
With some newer model

To end up just a trade-in
Forgotten on some back lot
Such fate she’d not recover

There was a storm in her eyes.  When you looked into them you could see it raging.  Her soul like a hurricane, devastation intense.  She was a powerful creature both physically and mentally, not someone you would wish to cross.  Bad juju.  She did dabble in the witchy arts . . . a practicing adept.  Intelligent and gifted, not one to be toyed with, she generally got what she wanted one way or another.  

She felt herself a good judge of character.  Yet she had just learned she had been blind to the obvious.  How had she missed it?  Rarely did she feel at such a loss.  She was floored by the revelation. It was just plain unnerving to have been surprised that another was other than she had deemed.  No matter, she’d simply stepped back and re-cast. This was merely a different opportunity to further her barren ambitions. 

Still ambitious she was.  There was no room for doubt she had an agenda, a goal, a strategy she pursued.  Everything was now a means to his end.  Plotting and re-plotting as the situation morphed.  An advantage ever sought and usually found.  

Action was necessary to turn the course back to her command, regain the high ground. Always the player, intolerable to be played, she would retaliate.  Others would pay.  Let him think her a fool, weak, helpless in his thrall.  He would see nothing she did not allow him to see and she would portray what he wished her to be.  

Time was on her side.  Patience was her friend.  He ever one to need the gratification of the moment, she would wait . . . wait and reveal to him only what he thought he knew.  They destined to be allies against the world. She meant to be the only one that truly understood.  She was first and forever the only one like him. Never again would she believe him anything but the demon he was.   Never again would he see the truth in her heart. 

She would be gracious in her forgiveness and understanding.  She would be what he needed, until she got what she wanted . . . her proverbial pound of flesh.

He presents himself

A spiritual man

Conscious and insightful

 

He presents himself

An intellectual man

Educated and erudite

 

He presents himself

A physical man

Stalwart and strong

 

He presents himself

A couragous man

Valiant and brave

 

Yet when I look in his eyes

All I see is

The frightened little boy

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