We Were Married Once, True Story Kiddo

We Were Married Once, True Story Kiddo.

THIS WILL BE INTERESTING WHEN I GET AROUND TO FINISHING IT, CHECK BACK IN A DAY. I DON'T HAVE THE ENERGY TO FINISH IT.



As I sat there waiting for her arrival at our restaurant, my knees began to shake uncontrollably. They bounced up and down as though I was moving them to the sound of a musical rhythm. I wasn't. My old, veiny, and discolored arms were outstretched and I grabbed for the nearest liquid to quench my parched throat. Which happened to be Lindeman's Merlot; extremely expensive. I wanted to wait for her before I opened it, but I couldn't, I was too nervous to not have a little gulp to calm my dry insides. I poured it in a spotlessly classical glass and the burgundy toxin seemed to just flow out so fluidly. It glistened in the glass, under the dimmed fluorescent atmosphere. It looked perfect, almost too perfect for me to deserve. I took a small gulp and realized this Vino isn't very calming, it's erotic aroma is intoxicating, and it reminded me so much of her, that it actually made me even more uneasy. Why am I so phased by this woman? After all, at some point she was mine. All mine. I kept contemplating stepping out for a smoke, I really wanted one. I kept fidgeting around in my left crotch pocket, of my worn down pinstrip pants, with the pack of Marlboro Lights. I just kept fumbling around really thinking about weither or not I want to smell like a chimeny. (Marlboro, Budwiezer, CoCa-Cola. The three richest, oldest, most used products known to mankind; in that specific order. An old professor of mine from NYU told me that practically 4 decades ago. I don't know why I just remembered that.) She hated it when I smoked, she hated everything about it. The stenched that lingered to me after I had a smoke, the taste of my lips, the fact that I am harming myself; and know it. Fuck it, she left me, who cares. I'm going to out for a smoke. But, as soon as I stood up from my chair, I saw her. I saw Sophie. My beautiful Sophie. The woman that for the passed 4 decades of my life has illuminated, every single room she has every entered. (With the exception of the last year) Jeez, she looks even more breathtaking than she did a year ago. She wore the pearl necklace I gave her for her 30th birthday. She wore the gorgeous backless vibrant, silky, red dress I bought for her 40th birthday. She wore the diamond ring I got her on our 1 year anniversary.(It cost me more than an arm and a leg. It cost me a loan worth more than the one I took out to finish medical school.) She wore the red pumps I bought her on our 5 year anniversary. She looked amazing. Just one thing missing; her wedding ring. I chuckled as I went around our table, to pull back her chair and help her adjust herself into our regular table.

'You look stunning', I uttered. As I walked back around into my seat. I couldn't believe she did that. She wore all the extravagant gifts I gave her, except the one that meant the most between us. As if to say, 'I want you to know... I enjoy all the luxurious spendings you have done on me in the passing years. I just don't give a fuck about you. This is a gathering to show you what you have been missing, Sebastian.'

'Thank you, Sebastian. You seem to look well yourself.' She replied.

'I like your hair like that dear.' I commented.

She threw out a very sarcastic and over dramtically satire laugh as she mentioned, 'You finally noticed. Not once did you ever say a single thing when ever I tried to do something new to myself to have you pay attention to me. Well, thank you. I guess.'