Beggars for Roses

Four Meter Fabric

Her and I... and the ugly, personal

garbage we often walked into...

                                                                  I slid
lower on my seat, knees resting on the

back of the one in front of me. We were
many hours now into the return flight.
I had just woken up, felt rested, and
now a little matter weighed on my mind.
I sneaked a glance to my left. Maria
was awake, reading something on her phone.
I debated how to start the talk...

                                                                    We
always fell into conversation like
it was the most natural thing. Years of
dialogue and debate had lead us to
collaborate on the vocation of
our lives and friends'.

                                              But with a second's worth
change of direction the aura between
us could transform to something else. It could
get charged and you could feel the sparks shooting
through the air. It could get cold, you could freeze
the warmest liquid into a solid
block. It could get dangerous or thrilling,

spiritual or repulsive. It
had always been strange, dynamic and so
alive, that aura of 'her and I'. A
real kaleidoscope of changing hue
and sentiment; the intensity was
the one thing that would never bate. Keeping
it at bay with our constant work on Scope
had been too easy for the most part. It
was a game we had become quite adept
at. But not these days for me. Not when I
was at my most vulnerable in some
time.

             My heart kept wanting to return to
that magic with her, that of being with
her, of having her with me. Not just in
work, for business. But in mind, in heart,
in soul.

                 I looked over at her. She was

poring over more documents from the
folder.

                "Aren't you almost done now? You
must be."

                     "Just going over a few which
are key. Can't wait to get back to her and
get a narrative going."

                                             "Thank me for
handing you your next muse. Why is it that
the female significant others from
my life become your muses?" Nina had

been the first.

                              "You have a knack for turning

up women with the most remarkable

of stories."

                         You not being the least of

them, I bet.

                          I dodged a bullet by not
saying that aloud!

                                       She noticed I was
still staring at her.