Vidal's Verse

I am still haunted by memories and feelings that should have long ago passed. The problematic curse of an almost perfect memory. Do I remember the days perfectly or do I remember her as being perfect?

These are just stories told poetically. This is a place for my words to live. Some lead good lives and others not so much. I would call these Poetic Stories. 

The Origami Handgun With Words for Bullets

She asked him, while sitting on the leather couches at the local coffee shop, “What would you do if you lost me? What would you write about? Where would your inspiration come from?” He sat and pondered her questions for a long while before responding “In my desk I keep a lot of paper, some multi-colored, some with designs, but mostly all blank. These are for origami purposes, along with wax seals just to add to anything I make. I also keep two bottles of scotch and a hand gun. There is no doubt in my mind that one day I would get drunk, write you the most beautiful thing in the world, put it in an origami box, seal it with wax, and then cease to exist.” She quickly sorted her emotions and put on a face reminiscent of a funeral attendee who struggles not to cry. Because, unbeknownst to him, what was pitched as a harmless question actually had loftier meanings in her mind. It was at this exact moment, over something as unremarkable as coffee, she realized one of the most important things she would ever realize. That within a year she would receive one of the most beautiful writings she could ever read, sealed with love and wax in a box made of paper; And that the man sitting before her would be dead.

 

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