| It was right around the time I left when I saw her twice. I am not really sure if it was her or if it was someone else, a famous actress or a dead little girl. I saw her looking at me, her sad and intense eyes indexing me. She knew that I understood her crusted wound. She knew it had happened to me, too. But I couldn't go over and join her for coffee, the same way I could never fight back. I just couldn't do it. "It was a long time after I had left when I saw him. It was only one time, but it was enough. He was happy and a little drunk and silly and friendly to everyone but me. I had always been disgusted by him, by his little secret night time kicks. I felt like he preyed upon your beauty and patience, felt you were like me a little bit, for staying around even when you knew he wasn't what you were looking for. Even at the lowest point, even if you were what he should have been looking for, you were there so long, you were so good and obedient and beautiful, that he didn't see it. He wanted someone for his music or art, and I suppose we just weren't it." The second time I saw her, we were in the same place, but her eyes were different. I felt shame for not telling her everything that went on inside of me when I saw her, when I saw him, when I first heard. I am sorry. |