Today's Quandrum

spent most of the evening with the tangles of this short piece. To keep it clean, or end it dirty? Do I put them in bed,  or her on her knees, or keep this piece the Good Housekeeping Version? What to do...what to do

She stared out of the window and then down at her bed. Half of the covers were rumpled and slept in. The other half was still perfectly straight. All of this time, she had thought it was habit. Or, maybe, the sudden mere madness of loneliness. Some nights it felt like a symbolic act - half filled heart, half filled bed, defined only by his absence. It was the emptiness of the apt that seemed to burden her. His surrounding non - presence in the dampening air. Her hand resting on the edge of the mattress, as she felt the consuming span of cold sheets. All that existed was that part of the world that was still within her reach. The rest simply faded into whiteness, beckoning her thoughts. There was, of course, no guarantee things would work out, but at the same time, everything about the situation just seemed to point toward yes. She had made the leap. And, now, here she was. There is sometimes no explanation for the messy and complicated way things work themselves out, she thought to herself. As she walked out of the apartment door it was like the wiping away of a smudge. Vague silhouettes, became even more indefinite, until they finally stopped existing for her. She felt as though her body had just been plugged into the sun. She filled her mind with cursory explanation about changed life circumstances. That night, not being able to stand being alone, she bought herself a ticket and flew back for the weekend. She expected a definite answer from herself this time around. She all but expected to drink red wine, dress in red heels, black lace dress, fall down on his couch, get caught up in the clip and cadence of his conversing. She had never expected anything more, certainly not to fall in love. She expected a weekend of pleasure, a way out of loneliness. She never anticipated champagne and chandeliers. When the sound all but rushed up and deafened her, she was caught off guard. Love rarely, if ever, came quietly for her. It was more like a train running out of control, barreling down the tracks. A head on collision of sorts. She had never counted on missing his naked feet in loafers, and fresh cinnamon spun coffee in the early morning. She had never anticipated returning to her own bed, and becoming so uncomfortable in the straight sheets....she certainly never anticipated buying a ticket. Yet, here she now was, ticket in hand. What she had never counted on, was the purest need of the wanting that was soon to follow...