the sun go down

I stopped chewing. My eyes probably opened a little wider. I felt my heart pound. It was twenty-three years before that I had been at Padre Island in Texas. I was standing on the balcony of my hotel room with a girl of twenty, watching the sun go down when I asked her if she was happy. “Just peachy,” she’d said. I looked more closely at the woman seated next to me. I struggled to imagine what she might have looked like, twenty years and several children ago. She noticed my stare and blushed slightly. Ashamed of my rudeness, I quickly looked away.

Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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