The grapes are sour said the fox...

 

She would have wanted to weep, to meet remorse square face, to roll into a ball of agony.

But….

He had never loved her. He had never noticed much less known the woman in her.

He had never realized her head held a strange dream.

He had never believed her dream was beyond a hallucination.

She had just become a bit of a woman ever since meeting him. He had never seen her his woman.

So on a hot summer noon’s day, when beside a door that had once opened to dreams, she noticed an impossible to miss name scribbled beside his name on a too yellow a card, she just knew…

She had no right to weep, to even feel a bit of remorse, to feel what it feels like to shrink within, to know what it means to roll into a ball of collected pain.

So she told herself…

Anyways he was never part

He never kissed her when she was sleeping…

He never was behind a twinkle, a tinkle and a trot…

He never held her hands…

He never felt the wind that had known her skin…

And so she retired to her world where no woman bothered to live, and no man ever did before him nor perhaps would after.

The grapes are sour said the fox perhaps...