Well you could say that our relationship was reduced now to a mere trickle, yes it was definitely trickling down. Here I am packing my bags and thinking how much better it would have been if he had not met Tangerine. No, it was not a fancy for fruit - that was her name.
I had moved in with George and we were getting on so well. Our feelings were torrential at the beginning. I could compare him to a fresh rain after a hot day, or was it night, yes, let’s say night.
“I just can’t get enough of you” he would say after an exhausting, but passionate few hours together. I was saturated by his love, it would sweep over me in waves of enjoyment. That was, of course, before he met Tangerine.
Tangerine was like a fruit salad with too much lemon; sugary sweet when you got to know her, but left a bitter taste afterwards. Of course, George found her just perfect. One of his favourite deserts was lemon sorbet, so I suppose he did not notice the sharpness of her methods.
I was now ready to go, leave our apartment that we had shared for almost a year. He was away for the week-end, with Tangerine of course. He had confessed to me that his future life would be with Tangerine. She was the love of his life. What could I do? I cried an ocean after he left and now I was alone in our one time love nest, wiping the tears from my eyes and making room for his Tangerine dream.
I was just leaving, but there was something I had to do. I could not just leave without giving him a memory of the floods of emotion we had experienced together.
I went to the bathroom and turned on the taps. At first the water was trickling down, but then I opened them as far as I could. It was a real waterfall, already splashing against the sides of the bath and so I left, to start my life anew. I was sure the deluge he would find on his return would keep him and Tangerine busy for a few hours.
I had moved in with George and we were getting on so well. Our feelings were torrential at the beginning. I could compare him to a fresh rain after a hot day, or was it night, yes, let’s say night.
“I just can’t get enough of you” he would say after an exhausting, but passionate few hours together. I was saturated by his love, it would sweep over me in waves of enjoyment. That was, of course, before he met Tangerine.
Tangerine was like a fruit salad with too much lemon; sugary sweet when you got to know her, but left a bitter taste afterwards. Of course, George found her just perfect. One of his favourite deserts was lemon sorbet, so I suppose he did not notice the sharpness of her methods.
I was now ready to go, leave our apartment that we had shared for almost a year. He was away for the week-end, with Tangerine of course. He had confessed to me that his future life would be with Tangerine. She was the love of his life. What could I do? I cried an ocean after he left and now I was alone in our one time love nest, wiping the tears from my eyes and making room for his Tangerine dream.
I was just leaving, but there was something I had to do. I could not just leave without giving him a memory of the floods of emotion we had experienced together.
I went to the bathroom and turned on the taps. At first the water was trickling down, but then I opened them as far as I could. It was a real waterfall, already splashing against the sides of the bath and so I left, to start my life anew. I was sure the deluge he would find on his return would keep him and Tangerine busy for a few hours.
No comments:
Post a Comment