She would have to pretend that this had never happened.
Of course, in the boundaries of everyday rationalism, nothing had happened whatsoever.
He had only briefly come round, a passing sojourn.
They hadn’t even come within a metre’s length of one another. Not one brief touch of contact.
But their minds felt as one, as they talked of such insignificant things, she felt her mind roam free and connect with every constellation in the sky; the endless options open to her, the endless expanse which afforded her both every and no refuge from the trivialities of her gratuitous life.
With him, she could truly discuss her veritable fears, the problems which devoured her sanity in the depths of the night, the worries which woke her up, sweating profusely and choking her into the darkest depths.
He was an ugly man, a coarse man. She felt not one iota of desire for the distorted figure, and yet, he was all she had really wanted.
No, she would never tell a soul about this.
Copyright © 2016 Rebecca Sherratt