She returned the book I lent her, final dismissal, a gesture of defiance, though behind the mask
she wears her real face which cries
it was not my book
but a book I bought to help me learn how to do what I do better and at the time
I lent it to her because she said she hadn't yet got accustomed to the job
management expected her to do
as if any of us ever
are up to snuff in this world where we ache for achievement, yet don't quite
know how to achieve; and I think if she with all the raw talent she has, can't
get what she wants how can the rest of us with so much less even hope to
all these thoughts
coming at the end of our excruciating roller coaster ride, the screams of which
still echo in my head, over the phone or from her rooftop, where I carelessly
drove her and don't know how to talk her down
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