Lately, all he'd wanted to do was get out of the house, away from the white walls, pale wood floors and silvery artwork. He really should have taken a stand on the decorations; he knew even as he gave in that he would grow to hate them.
Here, I wrote about his desire to leave his home. He can't stand being there. All the colors I used to describe it are rather clinical, sharp and above all colorless. That was deliberate. The color is gone in his marriage. It was never even there to begin with.
He glanced at the small, framed photo of his wife beside his computer. She smiled, but it was her polite and rather distant smile of obligation, not the increasingly rare genuine smile that he'd been ensnared by.
Notice the word 'ensared'. I chose that deliberately. Originally, the sentence read this way: "not the increasingly rare genuine smile that he'd fallen in love with." but I changed it. What he had with his wife wasn't love. He wanted it to be, but it wasn't. He only has love for Scarlett. Everything he felt for his wife is shadows, in comparison.
Does that help?
edit: Thanks Good God a Bear. Really, I love to hear that people are enjoying my writing.
Edited by Copper, 21 March 2007 - 05:10 PM.