Cage the Bird

It was always the words. Despite being a writer, I could never find the right thing to say to women.

"So what is her name?"

"There is no her and you know it."

"There's always a 'her', plus I heard the rumor."

"Well this time you and the rumors are wrong."

"Then what is it?"

"I just need some time alone." I said turning to my desk to look over some papers. As I shuffled through the documents I came across the picture of the 'her' with long blonde hair just like I like it and a look in her eyes like she would never judge me as I am being judged now.

"Time?" she cried.

"Yes. I need some time so I can write."

"Ah yes. The starving artist needs time to write his magnus opus!" she said with a snicker.

"Don't be cruel." I cried out as though it hurt me.

Just then a car pulled up. Through the glare of the glass I could see the silhouette of a man smoking a pipe as he made a circle into the driveway.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"What do you care?" she replied.

"I care about you."

She paused for a long moment. "But you need time don't you? If that is so then my time is mine now and I can spend it with whomever I please."

"Why don't you tell him to leave? We might need a little more time to work this out."

"With you it is always about time!"

"Just stay a little longer."

"And then what?"

"And then maybe we can work something out." I said reluctantly already knowing what her answer would be.

"Ok. I'll tell him."

"Don't worry. You won't regret it."