t h e i n t i m a t e s t r a n g e r

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She had changed shortly after, he said, shaking his head as his face darkened.

Later on, he would say she had been that way all along, but she hid it well, as many women are wont too in the early days.

“Men too,” I added emphatically, my eyes holding his. “Everybody changes, at some point, if not points, in their lives. You do know that, don’t you?”

A faint shadow passed his face and there was something like a keen regret and pain that momentarily flickered within the dark depths of his eyes — he had lost something precious to him a long time ago, something that can no longer be relived. Time waits for no man.

As his eyes came to rest on my face, as they sometimes do, like a solitary searchlight in the darkest of nights, moving from left to right, and back again (I, Poker Face), I wondered if he was thinking too — as I did, of myself — if I would change, or shed my mask as she did, in time to come? (I can only hope, for my sake if nobody else’s, that it is for the better.)

I remember feeling bemused at some point, and I must have had one of those smiles on my face that S often asks me about (“What is that smile on your face? What is it that you are so bemused about?”) whenever she makes an ‘interesting’ observation during counselling.

If he only knew that the person before him now was not quite the same person not too long ago….

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Written by The Intimate Stranger

March 28th, 2011 at 5:49 pm

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