I’m having a hard time focusing. Part of this is my
eyesight; part of it is her.
From the start I felt the need to escape this insanity, and
perhaps mistakenly, spent too much time trying to push her away.
This was supposed to be moment to moment. Yet doing things
in secret seemed dishonest to me, and could not lead to anything meaningful.
She constantly talks about truth, perhaps she is, perhaps
not, I’m in no position to tell. She’s ambitious none the less, persistent in
her efforts to improve her lot in life.
She hates needing other people, and said she dislikes her
dependence on the money her father sends her to help her make ends meet.
Yet men love to help her and so winds up in a strange
dependence she claims to hate.
The suicide of her favorite student years ago still haunts
her, which may explain why she contemplates it for herself. She went to her roof
the night I left her at the bar, blasting me later driving her to it.
I never meant to. She’s still angry over my writing the
vampire poem, misreading the metaphor (I think) and then condemning me for it.
Yesterday, I treaded on her space by emailing her, asking
her to send me a copy of a story she was working on. When she didn’t reply, I
texted her, violating a promise I made to give her space.
Sometimes, I really do stupid things.
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