Right Brain Left Brain Romance

Theirs was a right brain, left brain romance from the start. He loved the stars and in the dead of night could easily find the hidden shapes while pondering distant constellations. He read her fortune in drifting tea leaves floating in her cooled half empty drink and wooed her with compositions written on a beat up old six string he had been playing for forever. She was left all the way. Counted the stars alone, and never could see a constellation or shape of a fish or horse or Leo and always saw the rain as drops and cursed it for ruining her one day off with him. She off the cuff knew the wedding anniversaries of people he had only casually met and remembered by what they said; and not who they were. And so they went from day to day. He with a bag full of visions, she with bits and pieces of this and that all needing to be attended to before she could lay her precisely conditioned hair combed and knotted upon the bed to sleep. And neither one at first cared that the other saw things different. In fact it was a more of a come on from the other side both were seduced by. The thing that drives romances, starts relationships and drives people mad until one day after thirty years is the root of all, “what did I ever see in you,” questions. As if either could have found themselves thirty years down the road dusted, bruised and without the other. As if he could not look at the whole past as the good, bad and snugly any less than she could count the days all ten thousand nine hundred and fifty of them, give or take a leap year or two.

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