A Silhouette Of Love


Value her as he did, and love her as he did he could not promise to value her always, and that scrupulous thought forced him to walk away and not look back. That look she gave him then, empty and yet charged, would haunt him all his life. As if he had, with unconscious wantonness, trampled on some sacred ground: her sacred ground.

Before the age of knowledge, when she discovered him walking in his oddness, and smiling at the view it had all seemed so simple and innocent and tender, He, whose life was like some dried and arid plain, a stranger to passing moisture or interest, had wondered at her giving heart, and how she made a prayer of all she did. It seemed a wonder in his life, to be found and loved so openly, but he was young and oddly scrupulous.

He felt he must be understood yet free, and had still to discover that all things have their price, and that life cannot be lived without some compromise. Later, in years ahead, he often looked back and saw her timeless beauty and those haunting eyes imprinted in his memory, staring up the path as they had then and always would, and looking at him across his history in each new circumstance and saying with a simple truth, “You never knew what I gave you” and he never had till now, when love, once more, was like a stranger in his life, and tenderness only touched him in his dreams.

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About Peter Wells aka Countingducks

Trying to remember what my future is
This entry was posted in creative writing, Fiction, Love, Peter Wells, Romance and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to A Silhouette Of Love

  1. mikesteeden says:

    Fabulous muse upon the process of reflection, more so that it is in your own silky smooth style…right then, off to run through my rituals pre tonight game on the telly…special odd socks crucial!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. renxkyoko says:

    Beautiful, as always. I always enjoy reading your post, Peter Wells.

    I’m wondering though….. did he leave the woman, and now regrets it ?

    Like

  3. Al says:

    Regrets? I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention…………

    Like

  4. Well isn’t this true. We grow up, change our perspective, and wonder how stupid we could have been. Yeah, I get that.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. …as Desperado plays in the background…

    Like

  6. ksbeth says:

    the moment of simmering truth and understanding arrives…

    Like

  7. A question of perspective: everything rests upon where one stands. As ever a quality piece of writing, Peter.

    Like

  8. How is it that pain is easier to bear when we condense it to poetry – even when the poetry is rendered into prose?

    Liked by 2 people

  9. gwpj says:

    Beautifully said, Peter Wells, and so very, very true when, finally waking up, he realizes what he has missed and cannot recover.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Darling, P.
    does your wife read your blog. She must adore you. xxxxx

    Like

  11. Scarlet says:

    Oh, Mr Ducks, so sad.
    Sx

    Like

  12. gorgeously written…as always!

    Liked by 1 person

  13. While I love your tongue-in-cheek witicisms, these soulful bits are delishish, Peter!

    Like

  14. nelle says:

    I can’t help but feel for this man. I’m intruding into his quiet lament. Well done.

    Like

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