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God
She loves a good exclamation point.
Who are you?
She wonders all the time, yet she thinks secretly that she totally knows.
She just touched the ball you gave her. She laughs when she flirts with the symbolism that you gave her two balls in trade for her special one.
It's sucked writing about you. She hasn't felt in the flow. There's no wild juice to drive her to the virtual podium.
It's unusual, and she's fine for that.
Her fucking Norfolk pine was fucking dying again and it really pisses her off. She used to be ms. inadvertent green thumb for decades, and now she deals with two dying potted plants poorly.
It feels like she let you down. It feels like failure.
Last night, she shut the window on the orange cat as she was so exhausted it defied expectation. It felt like the longest day on the planet yesterday.
She hesitates to write you. You're not someone smoothly in her clutches to direct as she pleases. You're not someone who things are spoken well with. She enjoys your mystery.
There are silences even when you are together, and it doesn't matter so much to her. The hardest thing is her - what to do with her. She wants fervently to build a life that is worth sharing not some 'save me' bullshit like she's done in the past.
Romanticizing you comes easy for her.
It's in her bones.
Being real is what she wants the most in life, but it's the most difficult thing she could imagine. Like her sister, she needs a hook - something that can match her feeling of flawed within the beauty - kinsugi or whatever the term she always forgot that put gold in the reconnected cracks.
Humpty Dumpty had fallen hard enough that the shell was practically boullion. The kids across the street were back. She remembered the dread that August always had on her - as well as the deadline really making her savor the precious precious days.
Where was a pool when she needed one?
Her writing sucks, but she's ok with it. She understands why, and will work through the maze of befriending the critic that always tells her how unworthy and shitty she is to protect something lost inside.
She wasn't alone. She was going to once again try to take the dead off the Norfolk Pine and give it good water. She just couldn't understand. And the Aloe, don't get her started.
She she she she was glad that he had chosen the Mexican place. It made it such a draw for her. Pizza would have maybe been a no thanks.
Everything was a symbol.
of what?
Her aunt had visited. At the end, she was so bored with the tv options that they watched videos of the aunt preaching.
Still, it was hard to trust this God you speak of.
Although she was grateful as hell.
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