What, sanctions our thoughts? Rather, who sanctions our thoughts, right? I mean no harm. I’m not at all articulate, so my mother always said. She doesn’t say much now, thank goodness. Where was I? Sanctions? Sanctions. A political term now because most minds reflect our bodies; wide eyed, …
The word normal is overused. And, by the way, ‘normal,’ should in no way cause anyone a sense of well-being or security. In today’s world, normal means, ‘I have you in my clutches.’ Laugh, I don’t care. I just want a cup of coffee and I’m on my way. Yeah, …
Missy, I remember the Girl Scout Uniforms and the struggles through school and today I read of your death; that seems years ago too.
There are days I wish it were over. I don’t want to know who I am and I don’t want to face another night. It’s different when the sun goes down. I know and they know and the world just goes on, ignorant.
The situation was this… we pushed our limit, we overreached, we took out the part of us that God put in, labeled free will and we shook it liberally all over our skin, hair, hands and feet.
Don’t get me wrong, don’t think I’m one of those people who blame God for everything. We knew what we were doing, and we knew we really should stop.
While being raped one summer evening at 16, the idea went through my head that I had been nice to all who knew me condescendingly. As the air left my lungs while he flung me around like a rag doll, I had small visions of myself. Minor flashes of memories being predictable, unimaginative, safe for people who wanted no personal challenges.
I’ll wed in April. I’ll wed when the dew is like diamonds upon the white of narcissus, its deep red heart like the beating of mine.
So you can see, it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t out to distract him. I wasn’t out to gain his attention. I found him attractive, sure, but I didn’t flash my eyes at him and beg him to chase me down. I’m just not that kind of… person.
At first it was fun. She tried everything on him–everything. He even flipped through her books once but when he came across some descriptive parts of the male anatomy, he thought he’d leave it up to her.
I saw her in the obituaries a couple days ago–and now her funeral is just across the street, in a stately Catholic church, but I won’t go. She was beautiful when she was young, according to the tastes of the crowds; I found her loud. I will confess, her photograph …
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