gnawing

It ate at her every bit of self every night.

What she wanted. Who she wanted.

Questions swirled. Why?

Why.

One should be used to heartbreak when that is all she gets.

relapse

Slam. It has been months since they last talked. About a year since they last saw each other. Last night, there was a break. What started as small talk became something more. What started to fizzle away began to simmer up again. The once-was bitter pill began to taste sweet again. This is the start to old patterns again.

that one christmas song...

He took of a sip of his beer, set the wet glass down on the cardboard coaster and leaned in close. The lights from the tree nearby cast a glow beyond his shoulder as we stood at the bar. "You know, this is my favorite Christmas song." Nat King Cole's soft-as-velvet voice had started into one of the most famed and loved of all Christmas songs. It was barely heard over the din of the bar; the clinking glasses, chatter and the newscast from the television above. "Really?" She had asked surprised. He nodded. "Yeah. Those first few lines paint such a beautiful picture. Chestnuts, fire, Yuletide carols, the choir. It describes all the perfect things about Christmas." She was honestly shocked and the attraction grew from there. He continued to describe his perfect Christmas in romanticized detail. It was completely out of character. She sucked the remains of her drink down, carefully setting it down on the bar. He also gulped the last drops of his beer. "Want to get out of here?" He asked. She nodded. They rose from their stools and walked out into the cold night back to her place. "Too bad you didn't have a fireplace," he teased.

white hot heat

Why.

She was a prime example of perfection, but sometimes it just cannot be seen.

Red lips.
Hair full of volume, you'd think she slept with beer cans in her hair.
The fragrance of summer fruit and cherry blossoms carried her everywhere she stepped.
Eyeliner swept across each lid. Waterproof. Even though it was not tough enough to stay through the saltiest of tears.


That was what was on the outside. What mattered, of course was what went on inside
of her
big heart
caring nature
maternal touch to everyone



The idea of rejection gave her a feeling of white hot heat that pulsed deep down in the pit of her stomach and exploded into her heart, burning up the muscular fibers into black ashy soot of crushed emotion.

failure to load

It seemed too good to be true. Laughing, poking, stolen glances. It was teenage flirting all over again.

She finally had that feeling back, but she still thought why it was her he chose.

Things like this don't usually last. They only happen in dreams, or are developed in the unconscious. He was the realistic example of someone who is composed of all of those "boy checklist" criteria from adolescent diary entries.

The thought continued to resonate in her mind though. This won't last. This won't last.

She would probably be right.

when it rains, it pours

When it rains, it pours, baby.

He talked to her, out of the blue. It was a ghost from the past, one who got away and he wanted to know what she's been doing the last few years. She always wanted to know what he thought of her, never finding out the truth through all of the flirting and innocent touches. Was it a real feeling? Or was it the alcohol? The music? The environment that surrounds?

He told her. Unsolicited and vulnerable.

Change. Change he preached on about. I'm better now. Change. I've always thought of you. Miss you. Change. Blahblahblah.

Just when she thought she was started to straighten things out in her own life, it started to rain again. Out of the woodwork.


When it rains, it pours, baby.

loathing

She began to hate herself.

She hated the others. Girls.

With their hair, perfect eyelashes, perfect figures. They may have hidden insecurities like she does, but they are the ones that are somehow happy in the way their life is going. They are the ones that get the attention and the happy result.

From guys.
From employers.
From the clerk behind the counter who "accidently" grabs a large cup when the girl asks for a medium mochalattewhateverthehellsheordered.
From the teacher when she politely asks for an extenstion.


The feeling was white hot. She felt she couldn't compete with all of this.


What was wrong with her?
She was a...

Publicly confident
Educated
Mousy haired girl who could not control that random flyaways or curls around the ends with sallow, sunken dark eyes that made zombies even look attractive.