Paloma came to the museum
three days since I visited her.
She called me a stalker,
but is that the right word
for caring?
When she came in for work,
someone had to tell her
she was fired.
No one had the guts
because Paloma has anger issues.
Mr. Campbell,
coincidentally,
came into work today.
Long story short,
it wasn't a peaceful day.
It was like someone
blasted screamo music
on full volume.
Profanities,
screams,
at on point
door slams.
Paloma refused to leave.
Claimed it was
unfair.
A visitor called the police;
It was that extreme.
Mr. Campbell explained
and with that,
Paloma was forced to leave.
"Fuck you.
You'll pay!"
The police stayed
while P gathered
her things.
I visited The American Wing,
because I needed to think.
This was not like her,
but now that I'm aware
she lives with Tatianna,
it made sense.
I made it to Gallery 764
until Paloma came in,
bringing in two officers
and a box of her belongings.
"Got a minute?"
Nodding,
we sat at a near bench.
"Officers, just a minute please."
"You have five minutes.
Mr. Campbell wants you out
as soon as possible."
She nods in disgust
and digs through her box
of belongings.
When they left,
I felt Paloma put her hand
on my knee.
"Sorry about that 'stalker' thing."
It's cool.
But it wasn't.
"Here."
She hands me
a bracelet.
"A little souvenir to remember me,"
she says and looks around
then continues to point at
Peto's Old Souvenirs,
"just like that painting over there."
As I turned to meet her eyes again,
something strange transpired.
Before I even got to speak,
Paloma leaned in
and placed her plump lips
on my unready ones.
YOU ARE READING
Aesthetic
Short StoryEvan is not sure if its the art or her that takes his breath away. Highest Rank: #135 in Poetry; #604 in Short Story
