|Image © Herb Ritts|
Why do this to me?
I embraced you with all the boundless enthusiasm of my young heart; your touch burned me with fierce, fabulous, friendly flames, your every word etched itself on the tabula rasa of my fevered brain, your presence freed me from the mundane grasp of gravity, sending me swooping, soaring like a spring skylark.
Your wife? Of course! I would make our home a nest, a springboard, a stepping stone on the undiscovered adventure of blissful togetherness.
But how can I soar from such a high, cold, empty nest? The springboard splintered under the burden of priceless trinkets that entomb me, and the stepping stone is long lost in the wild undergrowth of isolation.You wooed me, you won me, you wed me; why then desert me to be curator, or, worse, a shrouded exhibit, fading, frozen in your museum of trophies? A crippled skylark in aspic.
This story was written for Angela Goff's Visual Dare - Obscure