Prom..ted?

Here's another one of San Diego Momma's PrompTuesday assignments. This one was fun and hard and I almost sorta kinda like what I did with it.

I am to write about my first love in only 250 words? Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent half my allotted lifetime of words talking about him, around him, to him, for him, in anger, in joy, in grief and in utter confusion. I could list you a thousand things he’s done to hurt me and two thousand that made me feel so good I fear I’ll never feel that way again. Talk to me on another given day and you can strike those numbers and reverse them.

He’s a fan of the Greeks, especially the philosophers. He fancies himself a Greek God when he’s in a braggartly mood, which is more often a cover for the creeping vines of insecurity like spider veins of reproach across his lightly furred skin.

One late night when we were kids a group of us emulated a bad summer teen movie and scrounged up beer and drove into the woods underneath some power lines to drink it. It was cool but not cold and the mosquitoes, the unofficial state bird, were out in force. He took me for a stroll away from the others to talk about some point of philosophy. His idol, Plato, would have been proud. He wore a baja with the hood up to turn away the bugs and when I screwed up my courage to look at him his beauty in the shadows was like a marble statue in a museum; so much to desire, so close and still I couldn’t touch.