Looks of Disdain

I did not know what to expect from her. An apology, maybe? The smell of fresh orgasms crinkled my nose, and the soft whispers of illicit love-making thundered in my ears.

She looked at me with the same look that had won me over a hundred times in a hundred years ago. A silent look of pity with a hint of derision, garnished with a contemptuous sneer.  How could I be mad at her when she looked at me like that? Sad, maybe. Inferior, definitely. But anger erupts only from the hearts of those who haven't made peace with their own deficiencies; the vitriol compensating for the lack of maturity.

Make no mistake, I did hate her. But it was accompanied with a deep sense of remorse for not being able to be 'the man'. 'The man' now was the man who slept within, and I sat at the door, was the one without. Without a wife who cared. She was now his, the way I used to be hers.

I looked up. A solitary dragon was back, vaporizing clouds with its breath, seemingly oblivious to the lonely man whose life was busy destroying memories into a steamy mist of confusion and increasing entropy.

The End

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