Jacob Lawrence, "The Lovers," 1946
Jacob Lawrence, The Lovers (1946)
Can a Game Be Literature?

Mark's Pages

Frequently, the ugly aura of intrigue.

All those men who wanted her. Her with her elbows on the table, head back laughing, brilliant smile, blowing smoke. While from all sides a circle of college males gather and stare.

It was stressful, and unattractive. She did have adventures, they were sometimes hidden, sometimes not, and for me that was all very painful.

But in its odd way it was honest. This was all new, her identity wasn't formed, she had no clue what these relationships meant or how they would evolve or whether my feelings deserved consideration.

I think, in the end, we became ourselves by rejecting each other.