Sunday, October 8, 2006

Prompt 9D: First Love, Last Romance/Talking Muses

Men always want to be a woman's first love. Women like to be a man's last romance. - Oscar Wilde.

She was sixteen the first time I saw her, with long dark hair that fell in waves around her shoulders and dark eyes that sparkled like none I had ever seen before. It was in a coffeeshop, a place I'd never gone before and only chanced into on that day at that time. I knew she was young, she was with three or four others of around the same age and all of them were dressed in school uniforms of matching skirts, white blouses, and dark sweaters. It took me almost two weeks to work up the nerve to talk to her, but every day up to then I would go, just to watch her and try and work up the nerve to speak to her. I finally arranged to pay for her order before she got there, thinking then she would come talk to me if only to thank me.

We dated for two years, and each day it seemed our love for each other only grew deeper so that when she turned eighteen it only made sense that we would marry. Within the year we would welcome our first child, a daughter, and less than two years later our second, a son. Danijela and I were sure our life was that of which dreams were made, we spoke often of raising our children, of growing old together, of our plans for the future. We never dreamed that before our son reached his second birthday it would all end, but it did, and all that's left to me now are memories.

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