Post by Jeremy Colborne on Oct 25, 2021 23:47:52 GMT
---Jeremy smiled in return when she stated that she liked to read, claiming that she was not much of a writer. She even wished to read something he wrote. He wondered if it would be considered hubris to reveal his writing name to her to see if she has read any of his work. He supposed in order to determine whether it was or was not, he would have to consider the intention of revealing it. Which, did not take a great deal of deep digging. It was to impress. "Oh it is no honor, believe me," he said, deciding against arrogance and instead modesty. Though, these words were far more true.
---Yet to hear that someone could consider it an honor to read something he wrote was . . . most flattering. His father would refer to it as a disgrace and while Jeremy was not one to fish for compliments, one could not deny that it felt quite good to receive them. Even if it was out of mere politeness that she was saying such things for she could easily change her mind once she actually read what he wrote. Pushing aside such automatic negative thoughts, he continued on his path of inquiry. "What do you most enjoy reading?" His small cabin out here was lined with shelves of books upon books. He was curious to know if he had read anything of her particular interest.
---She revealed that this was her third season, yet circumstances were odd. It would make sense. She did not seem to be that which would be considered a wallflower. He doubted she was in any short supply or proposals based on her beauty alone. So odd circumstances certainly made sense . . . even if he hadn't the slightest clue what they entailed. "What is it about the social season you do not like?" He asked curiously. "Perhaps this will be your last and you therefore need not endure them any longer." . . . was there anything that could suggest possible offense in his statement? Jeremy often wished he considered this before words escaped him rather than after and considering how many times he had already fumbled his words . . . it would come as no surprise if he managed to once again, imply something of an impolite nature.
---Her question however called for a rather simple response. It was either a yes or no, surely. Yet with Jeremy, things were not often simple. "I . . . no . . ." Now he was not one to lie. So he almost regretted saying the word. Almost. For there was perhaps a saving grace to it. No and know. Yes yes! He could play off the latter. But then, with it would come admittance that he did indeed know how to sew. She further explained that it was her mothers. Past tense. Oh and she had mentioned her step-mother. Oh dear. It was of sentimental value. Jeremy closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut as the storm raged in his head. Either he be a liar, or risk shame for possessing a skill that was not . . . masculine. What would he rather. What would he rather. The internal debate was enough to drive him mad as he could feel his heart in his chest as each second dragged on to feel eternal.
---"I know how to sew," he finally blurted out as if he was holding his breath -- which he now realized he may very well have been doing -- as his eyes opened at the same moment his words spilled out. But he did not look at her. Instead, he looked up at the sky. The clouds. Ah yes. How the clouds were quite beautiful. He could not quite bare to see any judgement or ridicule in her eyes so he had to look elsewhere. Anywhere else as he went on to explain. "I can . . . fix your cape. If you like." If she trusted him to do so. "I happen to have a needle and thread with me," he added on. As if his admittance was not bad enough, he now acted as if this was quite normal for him to do. He lowered his gaze briefly to her face and then at the tear. "It shan't take long," he further assured. "Because . . . I can sew." The revelation came full circle and he finally brought his eyes to the dreaded place: to meet her own gaze.
---Yet to hear that someone could consider it an honor to read something he wrote was . . . most flattering. His father would refer to it as a disgrace and while Jeremy was not one to fish for compliments, one could not deny that it felt quite good to receive them. Even if it was out of mere politeness that she was saying such things for she could easily change her mind once she actually read what he wrote. Pushing aside such automatic negative thoughts, he continued on his path of inquiry. "What do you most enjoy reading?" His small cabin out here was lined with shelves of books upon books. He was curious to know if he had read anything of her particular interest.
---She revealed that this was her third season, yet circumstances were odd. It would make sense. She did not seem to be that which would be considered a wallflower. He doubted she was in any short supply or proposals based on her beauty alone. So odd circumstances certainly made sense . . . even if he hadn't the slightest clue what they entailed. "What is it about the social season you do not like?" He asked curiously. "Perhaps this will be your last and you therefore need not endure them any longer." . . . was there anything that could suggest possible offense in his statement? Jeremy often wished he considered this before words escaped him rather than after and considering how many times he had already fumbled his words . . . it would come as no surprise if he managed to once again, imply something of an impolite nature.
---Her question however called for a rather simple response. It was either a yes or no, surely. Yet with Jeremy, things were not often simple. "I . . . no . . ." Now he was not one to lie. So he almost regretted saying the word. Almost. For there was perhaps a saving grace to it. No and know. Yes yes! He could play off the latter. But then, with it would come admittance that he did indeed know how to sew. She further explained that it was her mothers. Past tense. Oh and she had mentioned her step-mother. Oh dear. It was of sentimental value. Jeremy closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut as the storm raged in his head. Either he be a liar, or risk shame for possessing a skill that was not . . . masculine. What would he rather. What would he rather. The internal debate was enough to drive him mad as he could feel his heart in his chest as each second dragged on to feel eternal.
---"I know how to sew," he finally blurted out as if he was holding his breath -- which he now realized he may very well have been doing -- as his eyes opened at the same moment his words spilled out. But he did not look at her. Instead, he looked up at the sky. The clouds. Ah yes. How the clouds were quite beautiful. He could not quite bare to see any judgement or ridicule in her eyes so he had to look elsewhere. Anywhere else as he went on to explain. "I can . . . fix your cape. If you like." If she trusted him to do so. "I happen to have a needle and thread with me," he added on. As if his admittance was not bad enough, he now acted as if this was quite normal for him to do. He lowered his gaze briefly to her face and then at the tear. "It shan't take long," he further assured. "Because . . . I can sew." The revelation came full circle and he finally brought his eyes to the dreaded place: to meet her own gaze.
NOTES:
none!
none!
