Crazy Horse

The writer's blogk

A young man stood in front of me.  Slightly over-weight with a bad crew cut.  His left arm was heavily bandaged.  He held it out to me like an offering – a kind gesture.

“What happened to you?” I asked.  He dipped his head shyly and poked a toe at the grubby, coffee-stained carpet.

“It’s a long story.” He mumbled, “I was in love with a girl.  I loved her for a really long time.”

His eyes flashed up briefly to catch mine.  Glancing up to the right and back to the floor he continued.

“We always walked to school together – I was, I guess, obsessed with her.” I could see another flicker in his eyes, but of hesitation or clutching at a memory.  “I bought her flowers and chocolates, wrote her cards and love letters.  For a long time…”  he trailed off.

“How long?”

“I dunno…” He scrunched…

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