She smiled at first; then- looking at me- frowned.

It was a different frown- not sad; not really anyway. It showed ambivalence. Her expression did not portrait uncertainty as to whether what she was about to do was right or wrong; it was an expression suggesting anxiety and hope, fear in the midst of joy. In a weird kind of way, it was a frown that suggested hope still. I perfectly understood what she was feeling, what she was thinking. We both knew she was right. I looked away.

In retrospect, it was probably this very action that concluded it all. Leaving where she was, she walked towards me and gave me a hug. It was a longing one, a cry for help? She singled me out. It was the most she could do.
I held her closely- at first; but then, slowly refraining, I beckoned her to move on. There were tears in her eyes; something told her it was final.

Looking back, it was hard to tell when things changed- for the better or the worse? I really could’t tell. But what I know is that it was love; the truest and purest love of all. Intimate in so many ways- none of which were sexual, mind you- but intimate and sincere none-the-less. I loved her deeply, I loved her immensely.

There were nights we slept together. She loved my “strong arms” around her. I hated her saying so then, now it makes me smile. She would wrap my arms round her tiny body and smile. I’d push her away slightly, “I need space.” You see, I never liked cuddling.. not really anyway. Close physical touch was “strictly reserved”, I’d say- upon which she’d sigh and shyly move away. It gave me a sense of power, control. I never abused it though, I just found it funny. And after all, I did mean it.

Right there, however, I somewhat wished she’d remain.. within my embrace. And I cried.

At some point people thought we were an item. “Your relationship’s weird” they’d say. Laughing, I’d second their statement, agreeing totally. To some extent I had to agree. At times it really felt a bit off the mark, weirdly close. In a way she was mine. She wanted to be, I knew, but I never let her. She made it clear, and although I never told her and acted as though I didn’t know, I understood. There were nights she’d text me, sending me kisses- I thought it unnecessary. At other times she’d just look at me, and wink- I found it irritating. Then she’d walk right up to me, look me in the eye, and kiss my forehead- I thought it embarrassing. Now I understand better, now I find it cute; but then.. yes, then I took it for granted.

But now that she came to give me a hug, I felt loved, important, special. They watched in bewildered amazement. They did not understand.. none of them did.

In a way, she deserved better- don’t get me wrong, not better than myself, but at least someone who would return all that love she so freely lavished out. Showering her with love she understood, love she could relate to. She never understood mine. I really did love her, but I fear she never saw it. Never saw how pure and deep, real and unchanging it was. I was bent on showing her love in terms different to hers; terms and ways that were natural to me. I would fight her battles, lay down my life, shed my blood, give my all- for her. I’d walk through trials and tribulations- shielding her from the unseen, keeping her from the unpreventable, protecting her from the dramatic. I was ready to do it all. But none of it was good enough. Or maybe it was more than she wanted.. could expect.. or even accept? It reached farther than she could see. Giving so much, when all she wanted was a kiss, a hug, a public proclamation (perhaps display?) of love. But that wasn’t me.

Today she gets all that and more. And it is good that way.

She stopped me before the ceremony- I knew what she would say; so I said Nay, not today. It’s your wedding day.

And as she walked down the aisle- with the smile-turned-frown, and walked up to me- with the embrace crying to be freed, I knew she wanted me to intervene. But I refused. She was never going to be mine; at least not in that way. And she knew it. For although she held me closely and we both cried, my own tears were cold, my eyes were dead, my body stiff.

In a way, she finally understood we would never be.

Unknotting the tie, it was Good-bye.

33 Comments Add yours

  1. Tyo says:

    Hmmm.. je sais pas. je sais pas

  2. Tyo says:

    I am glad we finally got a short-story again BUT.. MAJOR BUT.
    I am not sure what to think of it.. yet

  3. Tyo says:

    I like that I feel a bit confused.
    I’m surprised.

    BUT: what sex are you?
    I mean, the writer/ narrator.

    It cannot be you.

    Is it a man? Or is the bride lesbian? Does she love the narrator in a romantic way?
    Or is she just a female with strong emotions and attachment to her best friend?


    Tu sais quoi? I like!
    Leaves a lot open to the.. not imagination.. but yes, the reader.


  4. DeMorrieaux says:

    Lol.. guess that’s the advantage you have as a subscriber/follow: immediate updates!
    And there I was, getting ready to continue my “Portrait of a Lady”.

    Well, I WILL respond-

    My question to you: Does it really matter who “I” am? How does it make a difference what sex I am? A relationship has been terminated (It sounds dramatic, I know.. it is –> fini! hehe).. and both have to come to terms with it.

  5. L says:

    both loved in their own terms- and failed to see just how much the other truly loved them- VERY nice.. and so true.
    Isn’t that what typically causes people to split up (besides many other things, I know) it is the fact that you feel you give more than you get.. and that it isn’t worth it anymore.

    This was a very close friendship leaning on non-sexual intimate relationship. Maybe it was good it ended.. otherwise it might have ended badly. I don’t know. Maybe with time they can be friends again..

    It’s actually quite sad

    1. DeMorrieaux says:

      Dear L,

      I agree- it is sad.
      It was certainly a very close and intimate relationship.

      I think the fact that she still longs for the narrator throws a few questions:

      1) Why is she getting married when her heart is somewhere else?
      2) Why can’t she be with the narrator?
      3) Was there ever clear communication/ discussion “topic: feelings”?
      4) Is it really worth being with someone who actually understands you but is bent on having his own way? (The narrator constantly points out how well he understood her feelings and emotions. In a way, his comments lean towards mockery. Don’t you agree?)
      5) What is the narrator afraid of?

      Hmmm.. a million more questions

  6. sekastudio says:

    I am a little lost trying to separate you from narrator — the gender thing, you know! But as you conversed with another reader above, a relationship is terminated and that can be sad especially if the termination is not mutually desirable.

    1. DeMorrieaux says:

      Don’t be lost. If it helps, imagine ME being the narrator anyway.
      How would the story be (read/understood) different/ly?
      Would it make it any more/less sad?

      (Btw: this is not me in reality; not really anyway. I guess the fact that it came out of my imagination, makes it me to some extent.)

  7. Sumbo says:

    Hhhhhmmmm Yinkus. Very thought provoking. Was trying to guess but couldn’t – I’m still contemplating.

    1. DeMorrieaux says:


      (btw: Sumsummmmmmm!!!! xx)

  8. sharon says:

    Something disturbs me about your stories.
    They leave me wanting. I am not sure what for.
    The family meeting, It wasn’t meant to be, and now this.
    I don’t know why but none of them really conclude it.
    They are all open-ended in a way.
    I don’t know it that is good or not.
    I went to bed after reading it, and had to come back to comment now, hours later.
    It’s good, as that it leaves me with some feeling.
    I am just not sure as to whether it is pleasant or not. It is weird, strange.

    Better than dull- for certain. But…
    Oh, I don’t know.
    It feels like it’s not over yet.
    (And I doubt- with your writing style- part 2 or even 3 would conclude it)

    This is no criticism, just an observation.

    1. 0latoxic says:

      …And this mirrors my thoughts exactly.

      I’m not sure if the a very-open-endedness is a good or bad thing but what I do like about it is it keeps my mind churning long after my eyes have stopped reading.

      Only when there is no end in sight to the churning is it not-so-good.

      Great post non-the-less…

      1. DeMorrieaux says:

        “Great”? A definite exaggeration lol but thanks for the complient still 🙂

        I’m confused as to the “churning” tho. I really thought the “Good-bye” concluded the relationship lol.

        Tmr’s story should be a bit more conclusive.
        If “death” does not conclude it, stone me… (not)

        Thanks for stopping by and dropping a line! 😉

  9. Anonymous says:


  10. Babatunde says:

    Eine sehr gute Kruzgeschichte.

    Ich bin ja, wie du sicherlich weißt ein Musikliebhaber und verbinde vieles mit Liedern.

    Die ersten Teile der Geschichte spiegelen, meines Erachtens, die Erzählungen des Liedes ‘The Whole Town’s Laughing At Me’ von Teddy Pendergrass. Der Protagonist reflektiert, genauso wie im eben gennanten Lied, seine verpassten Chancen die Liebe zu festigen.
    Auch wenn der Protagonist, der hier das “Spiel” verloren hat, was ausschließlich auf sein eigenes Versagen zurückzuführen ist, versucht der Realität gefasst ins Auge zu blicken, zeigt sich dennoch, das er nun das schätzt was er hatte nachdem es er nicht mehr hat.
    Hier würde auch sehr gut das Lied ‘If I Could Turn Back The Hands Of Time’ von R. Kelly passen.

    Beim zweiten Teil der Gescichte denke ich an ein Lied der Isley Brothers mit dem Titel ‘You Deserve Better’, im Gegensatz zum Lied sagt er aber von sich, das sie einen Besseren an ihrer Seite verdient hat.
    Es klingt zwar verrückt, aber Männer machen sich häufig intensiv Gedanken darüber ob, diese Frau an die gerade sehr viel gedacht wird, nicht doch einen Besseren verdient hat und ferner ob man überhaupt sie verdient hat.
    Gedanken die in diese Richtung gehen verdrängen den Gedanken, das es sich doch um die richtige Person für das Leben handelt.

    Aus meiner Sicht ist ein solcher Gedankengang allein schon ein klarer Hinweis darauf, dass es sich um Liebe oder zumindest um eine Vorstufe dessen handelt. Ein Man der nur “versenken” will macht sich keine Gedanken darüber ob er diese Frau überhaupt verdient hat oder nicht. Statt die Frage offen zu behandeln wie im Lied ‘Settle Down’ von den Isley Brothers, stellt sich ein Gefühl der Unsicherheit ein.
    Diese Form der Unsicherheit führt dann auch zu einer immer stärker werdenden Reserviertheit der Frau gegenüber, was letzlich zur Trennung führt oder eine Beziehung schon im Keim erstickt.

    Zum Schluss lässt sich sagen, dass Sex einfach ist, da es lediglich körperliches Können verlangt was man sich norfalls aneignen kann. Eine Beziehung hingegen stellt Herausforderungen an den Geist, die Seele und den Charakter, Fähigkeiten die diese Herausforderung bestehen sind nicht ohne weiteres und schon garnicht ohne große Mühe erlernbar. Daher ist es meistens einfacher “Good-Bye” zu sagen statt sich der Herausforderung zu stellen.

    1. DeMorrieaux says:

      Babs, babs, babs..

      Tolles Komentar!

      Ich weiß die Tatsache, dass du jeden Teil der Geschichte in kleine (und Musik-verpackte) Einheiten geteilt hast, sehr zu schä klassisch!

      Lustig auch, wie du es als “gegeben” nimmst, dass der Protagonist männlich ist. 😉

      1. Babatunde says:

        Gute Frau,

        danke das Sie meine Mühe zu schätzen wissen.

        Ich gehe davon das das der Protagonist männlich ist, da er von einer “sie” als sein Gegenüber spricht. Selbstverständlich kann es sich beim Protagonisten auch um eine weibliche Person handeln. Dafür müsste es aber eine gleichgeschlechtliche Beziehung gewesen sein, ein Hinweis darauf ist nicht zu finden.

        1. DeMorrieaux says:

          Naja.. vielleicht nicht auf die Stirn geschrieben; aber hat dir die Tatsache, dass die Schreiberin der Kurzgeschichte weiblich ist, nicht zu denken gegeben? Hehe.. Na, find ich eh super.

          Schön, dass in beide Richtungen (und damit meine ich die Leser, nicht die sexuelle Orientierung jetzt) gedacht wird 😉

          1. Babatunde says:

            Es hat mir insofern zu denken gegeben, das jeder Autor durch seine Werke entweder etwas komuniziert oder etwas verarbeitet, freilich kann auch beides der Fall sein.
            Das Schreiben ist an dieser Stelle ein Gutes Werkzeug sich, durch Verwendung von fixtiven Charakteren, einen Überblick über die Situation bzw. das Geschene zu verschaffen.
            Dies kann jedoch nur der erste Schritt der Verarbeitung sein.

  11. DeMorrieaux says:

    Manchmal ists auch viel weniger- das Werk der Vorstellung, ein Kuddlmuddl von Erfahrungen, Gefühlen und Vorstellungen; und nicht mehr.

    Und dann aber- being perfectly honest- wollt ich einen Eintrag “Reflections” schreiben.. schon vor etlichen Tagen, bin dann aber leider nicht dazu gekommen. In diesem Eintrag hätt ich über Freundschaften und deren Metamorphosen (pos und/oder neg) gesprochen.

    Guess that inspired me to some an extent. Es ist manchmal einfacher aus einem Gefühlskern eine realistische und aber weniger (komplett)wahrheitsgetreue Erzählung zu schreiben.

    1. Babatunde says:

      “Manchmal ists auch viel weniger- das Werk der Vorstellung, ein Kuddlmuddl von Erfahrungen, Gefühlen und Verstellungen; und nicht mehr. [..] Guess that inspired me to some an extent. Es ist manchmal einfacher aus einem Gefühlskern eine realistische und aber weniger (komplett)wahrheitsgetreue Erzählung zu schreiben.”

      Diese sind oft schwer erklärlich und da ist das Schreiben eine willkommene Möglichkeit sich zu “sortieren”. Es bleibt nur zu hoffen das sie Sortierung zu einen brauchbaren Ergebnis führt und ein Weg aus dem Labyrinth eröffent.

      “Und dann aber- being perfectly honest- wollt ich einen Eintrag “Reflections” schreiben.. schon vor etlichen Tagen, bin dann aber leider nicht dazu gekommen. In diesem Eintrag hätt ich über Freundschaften und deren Metamorphosen (pos und/oder neg) gesprochen.”

      Die Analyse kann niemals ihren eigen Ursprung ersetzen.

      1. DeMorrieaux says:

        Lol mach dir um mich keine Sorgen.
        Bevor ich einen Satz sage (geschweige denn eine Geschichte mit der “Welt” teile), hab ich diesen zumindest 10 Mal von allen möglichen Winkeln bearbeitet und analysiert.

        There is so much you don’t know about me 😉

  12. Babatunde says:

    Würde ich mir wirklich sorgen machen, dann würde ich anrufen und nicht schreiben.

    Aber es gilt immer noch – Die Analyse kann niemals ihren eigenen Ursprung ersetzen.

    1. DeMorrieaux says:

      Ja, damit sind wir gleicher Meinung!

      1. degel says:

        Madam,while it’s cool to know u can speak french or german,it’s not cool to carry on a conversation with it on a public’s ur blog yes,but I’m sure u want pple to come read what u write..saw ur link on olatoxic’s blog nd thot to check u out..this is most prob d last tym I’ll do that..nice post by the way

        1. DeMorrieaux says:

          Dear Degel,

          Thanks for stopping by.
          I completely understand what you’re saying and where you’re coming from.
          Considering that I am Austrian, however, and most of my friends better German-speakers, than they are English, I do make allowances for communicating in both languages. Some people express themselves better in their native language.
          I personally do not mind a blog being bilingual.. and seeing as it is mostly a personal blog, I still deem it perfectly appropriate.

          If you choose not to come around anymore, that is sad.. but perfectly acceptable and understandable.

          Many thanks still 🙂

  13. sharon says:

    My favorite lines:

    She would wrap my arms round her tiny body and smile. I’d push her away slightly, “I need space.” You see, I never liked cuddling.. not really anyway. Close physical touch was “strictly reserved”, I’d say- upon which she’d sigh and shyly move away. It gave me a sense of power, control.

    This brings back memories..

  14. sharon says:

    “She stopped me before the ceremony- I knew what she would say; so I said Nay, not today. It’s your wedding day.”

    This made chuckle.. and not small!

  15. sharon says:

    Coming back and reading it again- I actually quite like it!
    It’s one of those stories you have to read over and over (with days inbetween) to like them.
    Now, the more I read it, the more I’m beginning to love it.

    Thank goodness it’s a short one; otherwise this would have probably not happened 😉

    1. DeMorrieaux says:

      Glad you like it now.. and you keep coming back to read it.. lol
      Why not just print it out? 😉

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