An understanding came over him in the smoky twilight; here in this slug motel on edge of town. In this place of drugs, booze and heedless sexual encounters he sat at the edge of the bed, hands in hair contemplating a great truth.
Two paths lay before him; one to happiness the other to
Love. Because they could never be the same, not when Love could be so dangerous
and could inspire such lunacy.
Not when Love could be the red dress lying on
stained carpet next to a broken martini glass marked with last night’s glitter
blue lipstick.
That type of love took its chances, burnt brightest and died
young, hurt you in the most satisfying ways and walked away with what little
dignity you had left.
And this is where she found him from beneath the fallen
sheets of their reckless bed. Wrapping her arms around his naked torso she placed her
head on his back to listen to him breath and ease what troubles he’d found.
This was the answer he was looking for, so he chose love, the
path more treacherous, but the only one worth dying on.
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