NOthing has changed, except perhaps my disease. I have shed it. A new skin is emerging, and I haven't the slightest idea what it will be like. I find I have little room to care. For these are the things that hold my attention. These are the things that keep me awake, these are the things that make me naseuous and fill my throat with stomache acid:
A child was born. She evolved through the years, with knowledge and experience, and a natural curiousity about life, into a girl. Overnight, embraced in the arms of her lover she becomes a woman, the beloved. Now she holds herself a different way. Now her thighs are perverse. No matter, these are the things that a child experiences...this is life. But I looked at hers in a better life, I had hoped that she would become something brilliant without the corruption of her fellow, not that it is wrong...we have all walked this path. Love. We are females that are in love with love, such passionate creatures how could we be something otherwise. Simply this thought however, "What if she could have been something better? Her love and ideas could have changed the world."
... A passionate heart is crushed, pulled from its innocence and turned bitter in only two years time...and what are two years in a womans life? Two years, it took for him to change this heart, to take away all the wonder and beauty that had been building up for two decades. (And now I lay me down to sleep...and while my head settles into satin sheets, I think of her. I think of him, and really it is all so sad.)
...and this boy, this boy that she watched so carefully...nothing has changed. Maybe she is more like him than she would like to believe. He too is the observer, he watched from afar and judges them all. Never thinking he is better, for he is all but given up on himself. Now he too is a lover. Clever magazines are nothing compared to her. And who can argue with Love?
...(to be continued)