Hey, it’s Lorna. For a while I wrote a bunch of weirdly shaped stories. I wrote this palindrome a year ago after some romantic misadventures. It sucks, and I apologize for posting it, but it was my first foray into palindromes.

 

Hope dies. Suddenly. Painfully. The words have been said, and they cannot be taken back. She retreats back into herself. Her expectations proved too great, and she can’t remember what it was that he first did that made him different from the others. Maybe it was those eyes, the curve and slant of them, or the laugh, that coaxed her like a foolish moth to the distant ethereal light that seared her skin while her insides turned cold.

It was not as if this was unexpected. Everyone has their preconceptions and their faults. It was just a matter of time before it came, but when it did, it was frightening in its betrayal. The words seemed innocent enough, but the meaning was clear. Nothing beautiful has ever come out of Africa. Nothing beautiful ever will. Her chopsticks stop mid-air and she turns away, the embers of a quiet rage beginning to spark in forgotten depths of her soul. And then she looks into his eyes and realizes that he does not realize.

Maybe it was those eyes, the curve and slant of them, or the laugh, that coaxed her like a foolish moth to the distant ethereal light that seared her skin while her insides turned cold.

Her expectations proved too great, and she can’t remember what it was that he first did that made him different from the others. She retreats back into herself. The words have been said, and they cannot be taken back.

Painfully. Suddenly. Hope dies.

 

 

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