Riley Simon

"...just to see each other..." The words corrode my nervous system, sacrificing my pride on the cross while I wait for a reply. The phone rings: it comes with nothing more than an invitation to dinner, two drinks, and... goodbye.

The salad, seasoned with memory, melts the workings of my lungs after greeting her, the dinner asleep on the table, and yet my eyes do nothing but climb atop it. Similar to the last few years, within the walls of her conversation and the company of her warmth, I forgot for a while that this was the last time before seeing her depart for her country.

It wasn't until that brief respite of time, just one, that the laughter subsided and the stovetops lost their shape as the cold breeze crossed the window frame behind them.

"Doll," a sense disturbed by her scent devoured my tongue, unable to admit what I'd been trying to express for hours. "What will I do if I miss you?... Who will I turn to when I have a bad day?" I know there's no answer, I harbor no expectation, for there are no coherent solutions. I didn't resist my body's inertia as I sought hers; I broke the monotony with my hands intertwined at her hips and my gaze locked onto hers. "I don't want to... no..." My voice crackled like burnt wood. "I don't want to lose you, woman. I need you here... by my side." And that idea, which I had suggested a thousand times, despite knowing she had rejected the proposal, returned to me, insistent. "Marry me, woman... I beg you. Just one year; I'll give you the papers." My hands pressed firmly against the marble, at the level of her hips, while my pulse pounded desperately, imploring for rescue. My lips on the surface of his jaw, leveling my height until I found his.

He responds to circumstances with an innate ability to find immediate solutions, regardless of the method. This is coupled with a habit of being sincere, direct, and concise in all his conversations.