Love and Romance Photo credit: Penywise. Read online romantic short stories, true love stories from real life, heartfelt first love experience, and tragic end of sad love stories. Click here to read Editor's Choice stories in this category. And that is how we started talking and became friends. I wonder if I love him or is it just an infatuation? Thread of Guilt surround a person life.
Things that went all wrong that night , still troubles him.
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We started hanging out together daily. We went on dates and one day he proposed me in a very special and beautiful way. That you got into some kind of trouble. That you have wounded feet. That you lie down in fields. That you call out for your mother in your sleep. Until I heard you snoring. It mattered not one bit to me which or whether.
In fact it would have been easier had you been dead. He noticed then a notebook on the table, open to a blank page, and a pen beside it nibbed and inked. He felt as he had when the rector of the college called him to his office.
As though he was being studied, like he was a new species, something to be taken apart and looked at from the inside out. He felt his temper rising, from his stomach to his chest to his head, a sick and burning feeling, and he tried to damp it, to clamp himself shut. He looked past her and up at the mahogany cupboards with their glass fronts, and he noticed for the first time the height of the ceiling, the size of the kitchen, the depth of the bay of the window and the thickness of the curtains. He saw no sign of a Sacred Heart or a Blessed Virgin. It was a Protestant house, he suddenly knew.
He rose to leave. I have to be away now.
I thank you for your hospitality and for attending to my feet. She seemed taken aback by the abruptness of this, and her eyebrows moved upwards, and something flashed in her eyes, and her mouth opened as though she was about to speak, and her lips, he noticed, were red and full, and her eyes now were the colour of the farthest part of the sea, the blue just below the horizon, and her hair was coming loose again and a strand of it was curled against her cheek, and something happened in his chest, some kind of tightening, and his head felt woolly and his lips were dry, and he wanted to sit back down but now that he had stood he could see no way back to his previous position and his two feet burned beneath him and neither of them would move for him.
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And so he stayed. And she told him what her notebook was for. She was writing a play and had all the tools to do so except for one: an idea. She was going to Paris to live on the left bank of the Seine, to be among bohemian people, who had a different sensibility to the people she lived among now. She wanted to hear his story, all the things that happened to him up to the point where he had lain down beneath a willow tree to die.
So he told her all the things about himself that he could think of that might interest her. Every day she wore the same blue dress. It never seemed to crease or grow shabby or worn.
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A round and red-faced lady cooked for them and did for them each morning and evening and she spoke little but when she did her voice was soft and refined, and he grew ashamed of his frayed clothes and awkward manners and his accent that must have seemed strange and rough. Please, Michael, stay. He was after twisting his back and had hardly the use of himself at all.
The man dropped him near Nenagh and wished him a peaceful Christmas and sent regards to his parents and his family and he walked the final miles as the sun reached halfway along its short winter arc. And finally he stood at the cross of the four roads at the top of the hill and looked down into the valley. A neighbour drew beside him in an ass-drawn car, a man who laboured summers for his father years before.
A Christmas babby, begod. Have you no bag? And he hupped the ass and gave him a lick of the switch on his matted rump and they moved off across the brow of the hill and down into the valley. Go on ahead without me. Tell my mother and father you met me and I was well. Tell them that, all right? With my wife. And before the man could form a reply he slid off the car and onto his feet and started again to walk, back up the hill and onto the main road.
A waxing moon lit the earth and the North Star blazed above it.
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