aeryn

The East wind strips the leaves off the trees, forcing them to shed their summer in golden tears that are driven down the street to collect in drifts in the gutters. The wind, with its prying fingers, rattles my windows trying to pull my rooms light out into the biting night. Scotch, the perfect fall drink, warms in my hand. Its nights like these that I cant help but remember him. He has kept me warm going on eleven years.

The almost bare branches against the yellow street light cast shadows over us as we made our way up the hill. His gloved hand holding mine, his laughter warming my tingling ears, we walk purposely crunching through the leaves, their dry, sweet smell filling the air. We had found each other moments before in the shadows cast by the large houses that line the alleyway, fumbling at layers, baring as little skin as possible to the wind, but desperate to feel eachother, to sate the desire that hung forbidden over us. Alone, before we are back in the glaring electric light of my house, we pretend that our relationship is simple.

We had met at work. Was it love at first sight? Im not sure, but I remember the jolt that talking to him had sent through me. I told him I was married in that first conversation, trying to nonchalantly drop the phrase my husband. It was a new phrase for me I hadnt used it more than six months if that. We thought we could be friends.

I Googled him last night. He's still there - at the same place. Possibly that is a sign that I should leave him there and only take him out when a glass of good scotch sets my mind wandering. Even now things wouldn't be simple.