One Paragraph Story

It was the most amazing kiss he'd ever had. At least this is how he remembers it now. At the time he barely registered the kiss as it was an irresistable action and led to a period where all self-consciousness vanished. He was fussy and critical most of the time but she was a girl who could leave milk out on the counter to grow warm before he'd had his cereal and he wouldn't complain. Virtually everything she did left him speechless it seemed. She spoke so quickly and sentences would pass before he could catch up. Still, it wasn't easy to understand another in those days or to think of what they might need or want. For this reason, nothing could last when you were young. So when she didn't want to be with him anymore he didn't try to alter that course but in a very half-hearted way. His failure to attempt to change her mind wasn't due to pride or not primarily. On the one hand, he lacked hope that there was a chance for reversal. The question of how to modify his exile made him too helpless to think past mere wishing. On the other hand he hoped that there was another one like her, somewhere. Another one like her. That was less a hope than an assumption. Weren't there millions of people lined up in one's future that you would meet and connect with--one by one? It wasn't much of a surprise when he found out he was wrong since that discovery happened so slowly he hardly saw it until it covered his days like a web. He supposed that the reason nothing fit anymore was that he was older and it had only been so few months out of all these years of being alive when he hadn't had that sense of being wholly alone.

Somehow that worked so much better when it stayed in my head. Still, I suppose it's useful to have it out of there now.