Dawn's Story Part 3 of 5


Pittsburgh, United States

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Dawn’s story Part 3 of 5

Pencil, Pen, Ink, Watercolour on Arches Cold-pressed 300g/m Watercolour-Block.

16”X 12”

Dawn’s story Part 3 of 5

From among the crowd, I walked towards her.
I felt my arms outstretch in greeting, it felt like a hundred years since we last met.

We joined in mid-stride, the collision cushioned and buried within the flowing coats.
The perfume struck my face, fragmenting in a hundred thousand memories.

Placing both hands on my neck she stared wordlessly into the eyes and kissed both cheeks hard.
Then drapeing her arms around the shoulders fell exhausted against my chest with her face buried into my collar.

I held her close in a hug so tight that I feared would break her.
The tears, hot and wet soaked into my shirt.
Little squeaks and sobs coughed inaudibly our of her.
It saddened my heart so badly I would have sworn to dedicate the rest of my life defending her.

After long silent minutes I moved to break the bond.
Her long fingers dug deep into my shoulder-blades, crushing her tiny body against mine.
“Don’t leave me”…“please don’t leave me.” She whimpered plaintively.

Dawn finally pulled away, her head bowed. The hair hid her face but not the sadness.
My finger pulled away at the wet tendrils of hair stuck against her skin.
As I watched, tears streaked down her face.
One drop hung heavily and disparingly at her chin.

Dawn shakes her head, sweeping back her hair and sweeps the tears away with her sleeve.
Lifts her head to the wind, sniffs and threads her sunglasses back into her hair.
Wordless, we fall into step towards Melbourne’s Catani Gardens.

Fitzroy Street is cold at this time of year.
The sun shines without heat.
The wind huffs in suppressed frustration.
The blank stares from passers-by are chilly, the expressions strained.

We walked like bored lovers, arm in arm.
Slow irregular steps, outer hands pocketed, eyes searching for comfort in the bare grey trees.
A gust of wind picks up some leaves, spins them in the air and heaps them with a pile against a cold metal bench.

I was a mute with thoughts racing in my head.
Desires and hopes cascading like spent shell-casings around my feet.

(To be continued)
*Characters in this story are purely fictional.

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