Late gazes, window panesI don't think I noticed the cold or the rain until he put his arm around my shoulders and pointed out I was soaked to the skin and shivering.
And in the end they're not looking
No one gets to the wasted of mind
So insufficient this time
I don't think I care, exactly and I came down here not to fight it out with words but to think it through inside my head. One minute I grasp a corner of bravery and a little excitement rolls over it, dripping off the edge and in the next moment despair tears it off in a jagged line, confusion soaking in and fear curling the edges like flames from fuel poured on dry paper.
Every time I jump someone gets hurt, I may as well just leave my feet on the ground, bound to the earth like tree roots on a cliff eroding into the sea. But in doing that I guess I made myself an easy mark.
I've picked off all my nail polish and bitten the quicks. I've punched holes in my lower lip for how tightly I'm clenching my teeth and I will never feel warm again if I stand here any longer. I can't feel my knees or my heart or my brain. It was probably never there to begin with. What's my name? Wait, don't tell me, I've heard it before. Bridget. Rhymes with fidget, rhymes with difficult.
Deep breaths don't work. The vodka didn't work. The sea isn't working. Nothing's working and yet the longer I remain here the easier it is to see that everything works just fine and it's me pushed all out of whack, bent out of shape, afraid of days that end in y and weather that features clouds, the letter J and running out of hugs.
Maybe none of it's scary in real life. Maybe it's just life and nobody cares the way I do. No one feels the way I do. No one understands who I am anymore.
I took the deal. I took it all. It wasn't even remotely what I was expecting and maybe that's how he'll win, in the end.