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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Relationship · #1005457
A woman who is in love with the idea of being in love...no sexual content
I saw his amber eyes blink and the beautifulness of his long lashes collide softly with his lower eyelid. The door seemed to close little by little as if in slow motion. I watched the unsuspecting victim of my love slip away never to be seen again. Really, it wasn’t him I was in love with…it was an idea of such love that drew me to innocent visions of virility.

Back to work, I thought, no more cute delivery guy to divert my every thought. I sighed that great sigh that always seemed to accompany my weariness and began to write once more of troublesome situations, expressing my emotional state through the stories. Slowly the tune of “Nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen”, began to achieve its goal in setting up camp in my lowly thoughts.

This was my job, to write of distress and anxiety. It was never quite something that I enjoyed, but it pays the bills. I work for a magazine that uses depressing stories to reassure distraught housewives that their lives aren’t that dreadful. The magazine really is a sham, I mean to say that almost everything written in the publication is a pack of fabricated lies intricately woven together.

This time the story I was writing had to do with an abandoned child who desperately needed a home before the orphanage claimed him. It wasn’t a particularly interesting or heartwarming story, but my mind seemed to keep straying to what it was I truly wanted to be thinking about, a man that I would never meet.

How many men are there really? How many have special qualities that I might actually be interested in? So many questions that flooded my mind, but was there any answer to be had? No, not really. If there were any good men out there…ha, what am I saying? Good men out there…no, don’t think so.

I spent twenty-eight years of my life keeping good pace at finding men who seem to be the saddest excuse of human compassion that I could possibly make even eye contact with. There just had to be no way that with that many men who were that dense, in New York City, that there were authentic, dependable, intellectual men ANYWHERE to be found.
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