I can see you looking across. I can see your gentle smile: the old friend reflected in your gaze.
Your wave is warm and genuine. It isn’t I who waves back.
No. That hand is the hand of a coward.
While he waves, his small-talk a dull monotone of pathetic apology, I sit here beneath.
I want you. I want those lips that smile their pleasant greeting. I want that waving hand buried in my hair. I want your flesh, your breath, your need,…. your love.
He talks: I scream.
See me,…. Please.
I need you to see me,…
(c) Tim Austin 2016
Today’s story was suggested by the staff of Halo Literary Magazine – a wonderful magazine of short fiction by female writers. Issue 1 is due to go to press very soon – read more about it at http://halolitmag.co.uk/ and tweet them @.
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