Rubenesque Tragedy

He sat himself across from her, next to the window so that he gets a better view of her all tangled up in the sheets.
Lithe, inscrutable, mysteriously alluring with a hint of danger, inquisitivity and satisfaction in her eyes.

She was a mystery to him. Not like anything he’s met before.

He watched her untangle herself from the sheets and sat up in bed so that he gets a better view of her.

Damn, there really is something mysteriously alluring about her.
She’s not perfect – fleshy, with cellulite, no wispy waist, medium perky breasts.
Yet, she’s seductive.

Like the women from Rubens’s paintings.

Beauty in all her nature glory.

She made no move to cover anymore than what was already covered by the draping sheets.


He wanted to reach out and touch her but he didn’t. He was afraid that if he did, she would disappear like a mirage.

He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked but he couldn’t.

Instead he told her to cover up and that she looked disgusting.

Fat and disgusting.

He told her to get out of his bed; she had to leave before any of his friends woke up. She had to leave before any one saw her.

He could see the questions in her eyes, he could see the hurt but he had to do it.

He picked up her clothes and told her to get dressed.

He could see her dressing the in mirror and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
The hurt and welling tears that threatened to fall only made her even more endearing.

He wanted to hold her and tell her he didn’t want her to leave but he couldn’t. That would just make things worse.

He waited by the door for her to finish dressing.

As he sent her down, he told her that he is her worst habit, and she has to get rid of him.

That was the only truth he said to her the whole night.

He walked her to the lobby and headed upstairs.

He wanted to turn around and ask her to stay but he didn’t. He could see her tears rolling down her cheeks.

Like strings of pearls, so achingly beautiful.

He watched her leave from his window and took in a deep breathe.

Her scent lingered in the room still.

It was intoxicating.

It was a tragic love affair and he was the author. He wondered if he could change the ending.

His heart grew heavy and he reached for the bottle.

Perhaps, when he had found enough courage to do so, he could.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s