"And the Moon Rose Over An Open Field"
When he first knew her, she was young and full of affectations.
Now, she was older, and still full of pretensions, just different ones.
Back then, she had to stop the car everytime "America" by Paul Simon came on the radio. She'd get out, and wander around, like acting out the part of a young girl in a poem. In a song, the one with the long ponytail, young and flirtatious. A sprite, a free spirit, the kind he had so many of so many years ago. Back then she was a generous lover, letting him take the lead, allowing him everything.
Now, she had dropped the innocence, and was now a know it all. Which he hated on principle. The worst part was, she was always right. Which he hated more. What was attractive was her incredible patience with him, and her persistence. When he was mean, he recognized himself from his little boy days.
And he hated her because she laughed at him.
15 years since he last touched her, he gave her The Eyebrow. The secret moves that he saved for the girls he really liked. For the women he WANTED in his life. And he even kissed her-she had been pulling away at the last minute every time-but then he had caught her. Kissed her, deeply. She didn't seem surprised, and this-this one moment was the moment that made him hate her deeply and truly. She emerged from the kiss, and seemed to ponder. And then she opened her big lovely eyes, eyes which he should have been able to seduce, and she laughed. A casual thing, she brushed him away. Walked away, laughing.
Even later, she'd touch him, and he'd spring to attention. Was she more in command of herself nowadays? What did she let other men do to her? He imagined every detail, even the painful ones. It was better than nothing.
He watched her now, as he did these days, with such an obsession. Every fiber in him aching to touch her. She was like a string, quivering beneath his fingers. Once you touched it, you silenced it. He'd continue to love her, because she continued to love him. But he would hold back. And let her have her moments, without holding her back-with him.
He couldn't imagine traveling this seventh circle of hell in Hampton Court Inns with anyone else.
America-Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel
When he first knew her, she was young and full of affectations.
Now, she was older, and still full of pretensions, just different ones.
Back then, she had to stop the car everytime "America" by Paul Simon came on the radio. She'd get out, and wander around, like acting out the part of a young girl in a poem. In a song, the one with the long ponytail, young and flirtatious. A sprite, a free spirit, the kind he had so many of so many years ago. Back then she was a generous lover, letting him take the lead, allowing him everything.
Now, she had dropped the innocence, and was now a know it all. Which he hated on principle. The worst part was, she was always right. Which he hated more. What was attractive was her incredible patience with him, and her persistence. When he was mean, he recognized himself from his little boy days.
And he hated her because she laughed at him.
15 years since he last touched her, he gave her The Eyebrow. The secret moves that he saved for the girls he really liked. For the women he WANTED in his life. And he even kissed her-she had been pulling away at the last minute every time-but then he had caught her. Kissed her, deeply. She didn't seem surprised, and this-this one moment was the moment that made him hate her deeply and truly. She emerged from the kiss, and seemed to ponder. And then she opened her big lovely eyes, eyes which he should have been able to seduce, and she laughed. A casual thing, she brushed him away. Walked away, laughing.
Even later, she'd touch him, and he'd spring to attention. Was she more in command of herself nowadays? What did she let other men do to her? He imagined every detail, even the painful ones. It was better than nothing.
He watched her now, as he did these days, with such an obsession. Every fiber in him aching to touch her. She was like a string, quivering beneath his fingers. Once you touched it, you silenced it. He'd continue to love her, because she continued to love him. But he would hold back. And let her have her moments, without holding her back-with him.
He couldn't imagine traveling this seventh circle of hell in Hampton Court Inns with anyone else.
America-Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel
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