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Description
I passed through the first set of doors and then the second. Through the chamber that separated the howling autumn wind outside from the peaceful burble of rushing water and pre-recorded sounds of birds and crickets inside.
     I strode along the paved path that wound around the outside of this man-made sanctuary. My quick, long, strides covered the short distance with purpose. The books held firmly at my side. Soon the front doors of the library visible around a bend and through the branches of a small tree.
     Then I saw you. There, out of the corner of my eye, by the pool at the center of this grim paradise, on a beach where the water gurgled over the rock steps and fell into the pool. Beautiful as ever, you captured my gaze. The cascade of your long, brown hair covered your face from me as you turned to smile at the boy next to you. He sat right beside you, with a book open in his hands; his lips moved to make words that only the two of you could hear. He lifted his face towards you and smiled. I recognized that… that smile, no his eyes. His eyes were like mine had been but a few short weeks ago. In his eyes was that unmistakable happiness that I knew to be lost forever – love.
     My heart seized. Struck through as though by a silent bullet that unknowingly fell upon at whosoever crossed its path. Not wanting to draw attention with a sudden stop in my stolid march, I kept on going, the barely breaking my stride. On, away from this place, through the doors and into my sanctuary, into the embrace of my purpose, my meaning, the reason I’d come.

               *     *     *

     What that was isn’t important, for it held no cure for my wounds, no escape from the pain. Neither Poe, nor Shakespeare was able to pry out the bullet that was lodged in my chest. No one could stop the hemorrhaging as my mind replayed the scene of my massacre at the hands of that smile.
     Broken, my soul ruptured and drowning in pain, my mind raced to find something, anything; so that I could pretend that nothing was wrong, that I had seen nothing – neither you nor the boy.
     As I paced down the aisles, picking up books but not reading a page, all I could see was your face – happy, taunting, in love with the boy. And I remembered the girl – I did not see her face. I din not see her face! Why of course, yes of course, what a silly mistake, that happy girl was not you – I did not see her face. I knew, then, that you would not replace me so fast. Our love was real; it meant more then just words.
     Armed with convincing delusions, I returned to that path. I came back to find out, once and for all, that that girl wasn’t you. I trod cautiously now, half not wanting to know, I wanted to see her – to know her not you. I came slowly around, peering hard through the leaves.

               *     *     *

     I did not see you that day, neither you nor the boy. I don’t know who I saw there or if I saw them at all. Though my wound healed with time, the memory remains, like a scar, over my heart. It reminds me that I don’t know who I was then or if I was there at all; that I didn’t know how to think – didn’t know I was happy because you had found love, didn’t know I was sad because that love wasn’t mine.

Description
I passed through the first set of doors and then the second. Through the chamber that separated the howling autumn wind outside from the peaceful burble of rushing water and pre-recorded sounds of birds and crickets inside.
     I strode along the paved path that wound around the outside of this man-made sanctuary. My quick, long, strides covered the short distance with purpose. The books held firmly at my side. Soon the front doors of the library visible around a bend and through the branches of a small tree.
     Then I saw you. There, out of the corner of my eye, by the pool at the center of this grim paradise, on a beach where the water gurgled over the rock steps and fell into the pool. Beautiful as ever, you captured my gaze. The cascade of your long, brown hair covered your face from me as you turned to smile at the boy next to you. He sat right beside you, with a book open in his hands; his lips moved to make words that only the two of you could hear. He lifted his face towards you and smiled. I recognized that… that smile, no his eyes. His eyes were like mine had been but a few short weeks ago. In his eyes was that unmistakable happiness that I knew to be lost forever – love.
     My heart seized. Struck through as though by a silent bullet that unknowingly fell upon at whosoever crossed its path. Not wanting to draw attention with a sudden stop in my stolid march, I kept on going, the barely breaking my stride. On, away from this place, through the doors and into my sanctuary, into the embrace of my purpose, my meaning, the reason I’d come.

               *     *     *

     What that was isn’t important, for it held no cure for my wounds, no escape from the pain. Neither Poe, nor Shakespeare was able to pry out the bullet that was lodged in my chest. No one could stop the hemorrhaging as my mind replayed the scene of my massacre at the hands of that smile.
     Broken, my soul ruptured and drowning in pain, my mind raced to find something, anything; so that I could pretend that nothing was wrong, that I had seen nothing – neither you nor the boy.
     As I paced down the aisles, picking up books but not reading a page, all I could see was your face – happy, taunting, in love with the boy. And I remembered the girl – I did not see her face. I din not see her face! Why of course, yes of course, what a silly mistake, that happy girl was not you – I did not see her face. I knew, then, that you would not replace me so fast. Our love was real; it meant more then just words.
     Armed with convincing delusions, I returned to that path. I came back to find out, once and for all, that that girl wasn’t you. I trod cautiously now, half not wanting to know, I wanted to see her – to know her not you. I came slowly around, peering hard through the leaves.

               *     *     *

     I did not see you that day, neither you nor the boy. I don’t know who I saw there or if I saw them at all. Though my wound healed with time, the memory remains, like a scar, over my heart. It reminds me that I don’t know who I was then or if I was there at all; that I didn’t know how to think – didn’t know I was happy because you had found love, didn’t know I was sad because that love wasn’t mine.