The Lover

               She swings her hair dancing through the sound. She looks up and locks eyes with you. Her beauty doesn't take your breath away, nor does it light your loins on fire. Her face is rather ordinary in her prettiness. Nice, clear skin, daintily shaped mouth. But what's so captivating about her are her eyes. Nice shade of brown, of course. But there's some sort of an old-school mysterious light in them, that penetrates and somehow stares deeply into you without you staring back. Her small mouth shapes into a secret smile and even if she isn't talking, her looks say – ''I have figured you all out.'' That's what she was almost forty years ago and her image has fined its way back to my mind.

Today I'm staring into her eyes again. I remember what it was like, all that time ago. I was young, with that boldness and arrogance that only youth can give. I saw her. Not just once, oh, no. I taunted her, played her around, flirted with her. Man, was it exciting.

I'm aware I shouldn't have done all of that. It wasn't like me. But then the time came, and even if she wanted me greatly, I couldn't play our game anymore. So I just left. For forty years.

"Welcome back, darling'' –she says, all femme fatale kind of way. And this time, I give in, without thinking .I lived long, lived well, it's time.

''Hello, Death.''