A List of Completely Unrelated Thoughts

She feels vulgar surrounded by sweet sounding girls. She holds her tounge. Isolationism.

In the back row again, head against desk, a nightmare comes.

their hands are furious and she's aching for him.

Her body rocked to no rhythm and she watched the world move around her.

Everything went in slow motion. at sixty miles an hour. The sound of the road too loud for conversation.

Peices of red around her neck like glass. like love. like attempts at "ok."

Wet Chair, wet hair, her light brown hair and it's softness.

She planned a talk all night and instead gave him head. Wonderfully. beautifully.

falling or forcing.

sister to sister talks and a new realization.

regression amongst high heels and tank tops. 13 years, she thinks. 13 years gone.

Thrown desk, drowning anger, a dragon never found. weakness in it's place.

A hole as consequence of fucking instead of fixing.

Dark chocolate cake, sweet and moist that makes her heart ache.

Boys yelling from car windows and she feels appreciated.

Another begging long distance for stories and phone sex and then emotional break throughs.

Another with white flowers on in days and sweet kisses, backrubs, trying for love again. They still love each other but are no longer loving.

She wants to feel whole again.

She considers crying for the first time since reunion. Now, the first time after late night car exchanges of love. She moaned for his pleasure. She gave for her own.

A bit of him swallowed. A bit of his life that's hers forever. The taste still coating her mouth.

She finally tells him the moment she knew she loved him and he doesn't remember.

She comes home, shirt in hand.

Doesn't call back. Doesn't well wish. Not her habit But she shrugs it away.

She wanted to tell him that she loved him and instead saw another.

"the night is young" she thinks and they act like adults carefully placing each item of clothing neatly. Where they'll remember for later on.

Only 30 minutes wasted.

The moment he's done is the the moment he closes. Pulls up, protected. She almost likes it better that way.

She still wishes for nights in his arms and comfort. But only a little because she can't take the pain.

No gain.

She wants to weep to your love but she feels too needy to call, instead reads your blog. She Loves you.

She envisions herself beautiful in white and is suddenly afraid that if they die together no one will know her death wishes.

At night she goes home, undresses, holds a stuffed animal and sleeps. like a child. With inanimate softness as consolation. She's afraid and for the first time in her life uses a comfort objest. Shame.

No Money, No gas, and Nothing to wear.

She never got to tell anyone of her breaking moment against white marble with the background retching. She didn't tell of her break apart. But it's over now.

Her eyes feel dry and she closes them. Closes them. Closes them. She closes.