Every man has that one unforgettable woman that will haunt him until his final day; the girl that got away. Allie detested television, vanilla ice cream, and missionary. She explored the depths of her sexuality; while I discovered the heights of my pain. My muse had a nickname. I called her Devil Girl. I write these words to ease my sorrows. My name is Andrew.
This is our story.
the train pulled out of the station
darkness replaced the light of my life
I had to return to find Allie
frantic, I got off at the next station
heart banging against my ribs
hopped on the next train back
Times Square
a complicated labyrinth of tunnels
and advertising filled passages
turned me into The Maze Runner
She wasn’t here, she wasn’t there
my imagination got the best of me
their bodies writhing, sweating
mouths kisses. moaning, panting
in the tub
against the wall
hanging from the hotel chandelier
I searched every crack and crevice
she must have exited with the construction brute
flew past the turnstile
into the jungle of lights, noise, and throng
I spotted her blonde mane in the crowd
ran after her accompanied by desperation
pushing through the masses
reached for her elbow
a strange face greeted me
with a sinking heart I apologized
I lost my Devil Girl
To be continued.
The Lonely Author 