Yes, if it is...
Notice the first paragraph.
What is unique?
THE BRIDE by Gary Lutz...
If this is to be a story instead of what it was initially intended to be—an answer to the question of how you go about finding an outlet for what you are not sure is in there to begin with—then there might as well be two women instead of just one and, for a change, just the one man, who is no longer the one I threw my body away on but just somebody where I work, somebody with little say over what it is I do, which, I gather, is to look lonely from afar.
Which leaves how many more for me to pretend not to see? Because I have actually had people—persons—call me up and plead with me not to think about them. Persons who actually called me up and said: “Promise me.”
I am leaving out my brother because of what he said—or what was reported to me that he had said—when there was every chance that I would not be coming to his wedding, which was to be held many hundreds of miles from where I was going to try to be asleep. What he is said to have said was: “If he don’t come to mine, I don’t go to his.” It was probably that alone—the veiled compliment in it—that got me on the bus.
I did not kiss this bride on the church steps. This bride called me “catty” to my face not long afterward, but now that there are children, she tells me her troubles every chance she gets.
Mine—my trouble—is that if you got a good look at my wrists—if they were all you had to see of the world—you would swear you were looking at a twenty-year-old girl and not at a man pushing past forty.
So I understandably keep my sleeves rolled up and try to downplay the rest of me and keep it farther from the masses.
I am waiting to be addressed as Miss? Miss?
It is this alone they must mean when they keep pleading there is no such thing as a stupid question.
The colour above is intentional
The first sentence is just one sentence!!!
Notice the first paragraph.
What is unique?
THE BRIDE by Gary Lutz...
If this is to be a story instead of what it was initially intended to be—an answer to the question of how you go about finding an outlet for what you are not sure is in there to begin with—then there might as well be two women instead of just one and, for a change, just the one man, who is no longer the one I threw my body away on but just somebody where I work, somebody with little say over what it is I do, which, I gather, is to look lonely from afar.
Which leaves how many more for me to pretend not to see? Because I have actually had people—persons—call me up and plead with me not to think about them. Persons who actually called me up and said: “Promise me.”
I am leaving out my brother because of what he said—or what was reported to me that he had said—when there was every chance that I would not be coming to his wedding, which was to be held many hundreds of miles from where I was going to try to be asleep. What he is said to have said was: “If he don’t come to mine, I don’t go to his.” It was probably that alone—the veiled compliment in it—that got me on the bus.
I did not kiss this bride on the church steps. This bride called me “catty” to my face not long afterward, but now that there are children, she tells me her troubles every chance she gets.
Mine—my trouble—is that if you got a good look at my wrists—if they were all you had to see of the world—you would swear you were looking at a twenty-year-old girl and not at a man pushing past forty.
So I understandably keep my sleeves rolled up and try to downplay the rest of me and keep it farther from the masses.
I am waiting to be addressed as Miss? Miss?
It is this alone they must mean when they keep pleading there is no such thing as a stupid question.
The colour above is intentional
The first sentence is just one sentence!!!
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