Red Finch

He talked. About almost everything. Not everything. But what he thought was important. To him. To me.

Time and time again, the story of a boy who watched his dad beat up his mom until he grew old enough to pay him favor back. About the army. Drugs. Crime. Money. Everything except women. Other than his mom.

He said he didn't remember any more. It's been so long ago. He's been through so much since. I remembered. Not seeing any of this. Not imagining any of this. Did I really see a human being in front of me? Or merely a man I wanted? Was I supposed to know, to search, to wait? Would he let me wait?

The answer came few days later. Things are not going the way he would want. There is someone else he wants to give a chance to. He feels he rushed into this. He is sorry.

It's fine. I was quite sure I didn't want him. Not as he was. I wanted to fix him, get him somewhat back to what he used to be. At least on the outside. But it was his inside that brought him to this outside. How far and how hard would he have to go to get back to time he was without scars? Or at least without the pain.