A Portait of You (154 hits)
Category: RomanceRating: 0.5 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Flash Harry (View user info) at 2008-05-16 05:20:31 EDT
Stored underneath my bed, next to tattered work-boots and dusty suitcases, is a bashed tartan tin. Once, it was filled to the brim with crunchy, sugarcoated shortbread, but with that long since eaten, the tin has a new purpose.
Every now and then, and mostly by accident, I pull it out and hold it in my hands. Usually I slide it back into the shadows for another day, but sometimes I will curl up on the bed, pry open the lid and spread the contents out on the duvet.
Dozens of photographs peer back at me. Images of you, the girl I loved and lost so long ago. If I ever lay my eyes upon your person again, I will no longer see the girl I adored. You have changed in my mind. Although you may look the same, I no longer see the beauty I once did.
But the girl in the pictures was a princess to me. I hold one up close to my face, studying it. It is from your 18th birthday dinner. Our faces side-by-side, cheeks touching, the smiles are those of youth and genuine happiness. Later that night I told you that I loved you. It was something we'd utter unflinchingly from then on, over and over. When did it stop being true?
Another picture, another memory. At the beach, with the dogs. Were we ever more content than rambling up and down, throwing sticks and linking arms and paddling in the freezing foam? In this picture you are caught with a half-smile, in a perfect moment of chance beauty. I haven't been to the beach since we went our separate ways. The dog died. This photograph taunts me from a scene I can never again enjoy.
My favourite picture; at least it used to be. A glorious close-up of your giant breasts, pink-nippled and glorious. I remember taking it. The only way you could climax was by riding me with a passion and a ferocity I have never since experienced. I would tug on your peaks, unless I was handcuffed, which was fairly common. I can still recall your taste, your smell. We used to fuck for hours, in the early days. In the aftermath, I found bliss in the way you curled under my arm, resting your head on my chest and snaking a thigh across mine.
All these photographs. How many hours did we spend together? And of those, how many were spent happy? I hope they outweigh the days spent bickering and miserable.
Here's a good one. The whole gang at the pub, on karaoke night. Red-faced and smiling without sober inhibitions. Serious joy shines from this picture like a beacon. Surrounded by friends and with the girl I knew I wanted for the rest of my life, I couldn't have asked for much more. You would sing Black Velvet, and dedicate it to me. I was the boy that brought you to your knees. Our relationship was the religion. When did the faith turn to fury?
I don't even know if I would recognise you any more. You are like a dream, vague and half-hearted. The photographs are all I have left, and they are a record of a time and a love and a girl which are long gone. Every now and then, I can gather them together, though, and cast my mind back. I can use them to piece together a portrait. A portrait of you.
* * * * *
One night at Uni I wrote a song with my mate, who is insanely talented and has a voice like an angel:
A Portait of You.wma (3 MB) [audio/x-ms-wma]
User Reviews
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2008-05-16 05:56:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Shouldn't have changed it.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-05-16 05:34:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
You are totally right Bint.
Re-post: http://www.ubersite.com/m/116766
Submitted by Littlebint (user info) at 2008-05-16 05:28:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
You know I was really into this and feeling it until the sex part. It seems to turn it from a heartfelt piece into a tacky little tale. I just think you didnt need to do it.
Sad about the dog though.
I couldnt play the tune as it crashed on me for some reason.