Con Amore: Love

by Sasjah Miller

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In the end they always go. In the end he always abandons ship and he makes them leave, the girls with their pretty dresses and bangles in their ears and their coal dark eyes.

Afterwards he invariably sits in the great cabin, waiting for me, the violin lying on his knees as his fingers lovingly, apologetically, trace its contours.

"Ah, Stephen," he mumbles, "I haven't been very good to you, haven't I?"

And then he smiles at me and lifts his violin to his chin, tipping his head towards me and lures me back to him with a musical caress.

 

The End

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