Vivian and Victor
Victor consumes self-deception like volumes of self-help books.
Ink in wet paperbacks will fade in time. If only Victor had taken to her.
Victor could have traveled to places he'd never dream of. Vivian watches
him with great distain. Victor lacks imagination. What could be something
beautiful is vain. Every love story is a tale formed in stories as old as time.
Vivian talked to him about this in the beginning. Over time Vivian's heart grew
dim. The ink in Vivian's heart faded in the wetness of her exasperation.
To Vivian love had to be about congruence. Water and debris should flow
downhill together. Sifting through debris is quite the conscious decision:
like matters of the heart. Vivian will never find help in self-help books.
Their story dried long ago in the faded ink of her exasperation.
— Vivian and Victor
© 2017 by emmett wheatfall
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