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The Lie

She had dirty dishwasher blonde hair that went all the way down her spine.
The lengthy legs and the ass of a Russian dancer.
A sharp nose only matched by her strong chin and knowing green eyes.
She smoked Marlbs, where I smoked Camels.
Her insatiable quench for vodka outweighed my on going quest for any drink available.
and somehow,
tonight,
she was mine
if the heart was willing.

Once the drinks were gone
the ashtray full
the mind loose
and the body brave
she got up and walked to the door.

Saying goodbye she told me that i've 'one of the most beautiful minds' she'd ever seen. 'If only it wasn't hindered.' by my alcoholism.
"Write something tonight."

I laughed a drunken fools laugh and assured her she was wrong about both but more so on the alcoholism.

"My intelligence is only hindered by my need to make a joke of it."

She gave me a sad dry smile and kissed my forehead goodnight and closed the door behind her.
I sat on the floor and picked a butt from the ash tray, lit it, and stared at the wall.

She had a sense of freedom and listlessness.
I have the gut rot feeling of guilt and another missed chance.
I put the burnt out butt on the floor and thought of my last response.

A drunks Lie.
Written by Harold-Weathervein (Levi Braathen)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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