Array
(
    [sid] => 173757
    [catid] => 1
    [aid] => mick
    [title] => When Hope Begins to Fade (Part I)
    [time] => 2012-09-06 15:27:54
    [hometext] => Just the first chapter of a story I'm writing.  Feedback needed.
    [bodytext] => <!--I was eighteen when he first saw me. I was at a bookstore trying to grab a book that was on a shelf too high for me to reach. I felt a warm body at my back and then saw a hand grab the book I was trying to reach. I may not remember the conversations completely, please don't be angry. I'll try to do my best.<br />
<br />
"Thank you so much. I was about to try and climb the shelf." I think I said as I turned to him. My first thought was that he was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. He had brown hair contrasted with the most beautiful green eyes. I don't even remember what he was wearing. He looked young, but the stubble on his face made him appear older. I only learned later that he was twenty eight when we met.<br />
<br />
"It's no problem. They shouldn't have books up that high anyway." He had a great smile. I grew to love his smile.<br />
<br />
"I love that book." I think it was The Catcher in the Rye but it may have been A Separate Peace, I really don't remember.<br />
<br />
"Yeah me too, I had to read it in high school and I fell in love with it. I thought I'd use it for an assignment in my English class."<br />
<br />
"Where do you go to school?"<br />
<br />
"The community college up the street."<br />
<br />
"Oh, really? I went there too."<br />
<br />
"What'd you major in? If you don't mind my asking." I hadn't wanted to be too intrusive.<br />
<br />
"Not at all. I ended up getting a degree in art. I love to paint." I could see that, his hands had residue from paint that didn't wash off.<br />
<br />
"That's what I'm there for. What kind of paint do you use."<br />
<br />
"Mostly oil."<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah, I do acrylic." He was only getting better in my eyes. "Well I guess I should buy this and do my paper. It was really nice meeting you. Oh I never asked your name." He laughed, it was a beautiful sound.<br />
<br />
"It's Warren. What's yours?"<br />
<br />
"I'm Andy."<br />
<br />
"What's that short for, Andrea?"<br />
<br />
"Andromeda. My dad's into myths and my mom's into astrology. I think I got pretty lucky." He laughed again and I felt myself smile.<br />
<br />
"That's a beautiful name. It suits you." I felt myself blush. "It was very nice meeting you Andromeda." I remember the smile as he left. It was beautiful.<br />
<br />
It wasn't long after we parted ways at the bookstore that I forgot about him. I was over half way done earning my degree when I saw him again. I was twenty. I guess you could say I was an academic geek, I'd never actually had a boyfriend. I'd been kissed but I never had a romantic connection with a person. I was living in an apartment by my college and the place where I worked. I worked in an art gallery giving tours. Pretty much anything they ask me to do.<br />
<br />
I wish that I was about to tell you that I ran into him again. And he took me out to coffee and we talked about our lives. Then we meet some more and eventually start dating. And after a few years we'd get married and go off and paint the world together. Him using oils me using acrylics. But that isn't the story I'm going to tell you.<br />
<br />
I'm going to tell you about how I walked into my apartment one day and saw him sitting on my couch. And that I panicked when I first saw him, thinking he was there to kill me. But when I saw that it was him I almost relaxed. That was my first mistake and he told me so. He told me I was too trusting, that I was too kind. That people were going to hurt me because I was too nice. He said he needed to save me, to keep the world from hurting me. That he loved me too much to watch me get hurt. That was the last thing I remembered about that day. Before I felt the prick of a needle in my neck and my entire world went black.<br />
<br />
This is the story I'm going to tell you. And I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. If it gets too hard for you to read. I'm sorry if you hate me by the end of it. It's okay, I think I hated me too. But just because I'm telling you this story doesn't mean I'm alive at the end of it.<br />-->
    [comments] => 0
    [counter] => 134
    [topic] => 48
    [informant] => FragileStrength
    [notes] => Post removed. You must be a premium member to submit stories and then they are submitted in the story section, not the poetry pages. Thank you. Moderator_18 Sept 6, 2012
    [ihome] => 0
    [alanguage] => english
    [acomm] => 0
    [haspoll] => 0
    [pollID] => 0
    [score] => 0
    [ratings] => 0
    [editpoem] => 1
    [associated] => 
    [topicname] => EmotionalPoetry
)
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    <title>Your Poetry Dot Com - When Hope Begins to Fade (Part I)</title>
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                                                            <b>When Hope Begins to Fade (Part I)</b>
                                                        </font><br>
                                                        <font class="tiny"><b>Date:</b> Thursday, 6th September 2012 @ 03:27:54 PM AEST<br><b>Topic:</b> Sad Poetry</font><br><br>
                                                        <font class="content">Contributed By: FragileStrength<br><br>
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                                                       <!--I was eighteen when he first saw me. I was at a bookstore trying to grab a book that was on a shelf too high for me to reach. I felt a warm body at my back and then saw a hand grab the book I was trying to reach. I may not remember the conversations completely, please don't be angry. I'll try to do my best.<br />
<br />
"Thank you so much. I was about to try and climb the shelf." I think I said as I turned to him. My first thought was that he was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. He had brown hair contrasted with the most beautiful green eyes. I don't even remember what he was wearing. He looked young, but the stubble on his face made him appear older. I only learned later that he was twenty eight when we met.<br />
<br />
"It's no problem. They shouldn't have books up that high anyway." He had a great smile. I grew to love his smile.<br />
<br />
"I love that book." I think it was The Catcher in the Rye but it may have been A Separate Peace, I really don't remember.<br />
<br />
"Yeah me too, I had to read it in high school and I fell in love with it. I thought I'd use it for an assignment in my English class."<br />
<br />
"Where do you go to school?"<br />
<br />
"The community college up the street."<br />
<br />
"Oh, really? I went there too."<br />
<br />
"What'd you major in? If you don't mind my asking." I hadn't wanted to be too intrusive.<br />
<br />
"Not at all. I ended up getting a degree in art. I love to paint." I could see that, his hands had residue from paint that didn't wash off.<br />
<br />
"That's what I'm there for. What kind of paint do you use."<br />
<br />
"Mostly oil."<br />
<br />
"Oh yeah, I do acrylic." He was only getting better in my eyes. "Well I guess I should buy this and do my paper. It was really nice meeting you. Oh I never asked your name." He laughed, it was a beautiful sound.<br />
<br />
"It's Warren. What's yours?"<br />
<br />
"I'm Andy."<br />
<br />
"What's that short for, Andrea?"<br />
<br />
"Andromeda. My dad's into myths and my mom's into astrology. I think I got pretty lucky." He laughed again and I felt myself smile.<br />
<br />
"That's a beautiful name. It suits you." I felt myself blush. "It was very nice meeting you Andromeda." I remember the smile as he left. It was beautiful.<br />
<br />
It wasn't long after we parted ways at the bookstore that I forgot about him. I was over half way done earning my degree when I saw him again. I was twenty. I guess you could say I was an academic geek, I'd never actually had a boyfriend. I'd been kissed but I never had a romantic connection with a person. I was living in an apartment by my college and the place where I worked. I worked in an art gallery giving tours. Pretty much anything they ask me to do.<br />
<br />
I wish that I was about to tell you that I ran into him again. And he took me out to coffee and we talked about our lives. Then we meet some more and eventually start dating. And after a few years we'd get married and go off and paint the world together. Him using oils me using acrylics. But that isn't the story I'm going to tell you.<br />
<br />
I'm going to tell you about how I walked into my apartment one day and saw him sitting on my couch. And that I panicked when I first saw him, thinking he was there to kill me. But when I saw that it was him I almost relaxed. That was my first mistake and he told me so. He told me I was too trusting, that I was too kind. That people were going to hurt me because I was too nice. He said he needed to save me, to keep the world from hurting me. That he loved me too much to watch me get hurt. That was the last thing I remembered about that day. Before I felt the prick of a needle in my neck and my entire world went black.<br />
<br />
This is the story I'm going to tell you. And I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. If it gets too hard for you to read. I'm sorry if you hate me by the end of it. It's okay, I think I hated me too. But just because I'm telling you this story doesn't mean I'm alive at the end of it.<br />-->                                                        <br>
                                                        <br>This poem is Copyright © FragileStrength<br><br>
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