She poised the pen above the paper. She couldn’t decide what to write. A thousand thoughts filled her head. Which one? Which story would she tell?
And she began:
I love you, she said.
As do I, he said.
But we mustn’t, she cried.
Heaven forbid,why not? he exclaimed.
She nibbled at the end of the pen before crossing out the lines written. That story would have to be told someday , but not then; it was simply not the right time.
She conjured the image of a frightened girl; lost and confused. Humanity had reared it’s ugly head. Innocent, blameless, she nursed it’s vicious bite. Would it ever heal? She doesn’t know. All she knows is that it hurt. She has faced the worst kind of betrayal. She was made an object. A thing. Used and disposed of. Human is the last thing she feels. Dirty is all she considers herself to be.
She stared at the words on the page but couldn’t bring herself to write anything more. She crumpled the paper and threw it to the floor alongside other ‘groundbreaking ideas’.
Sleep clouded her thoughts but she struggled against it’s pull. She had to write something! Before the clock struck midnight, she had to put something down! Considering she had a lengthy email to reply to from a far off place, she opted to document what she thought. Sleep draws her in and she can’t speak of the man sitting under a tree nor can she tell of the dark crevices of a man’s soul. No, slumber embraces her smoothly and she must bid you adieu before…before. Goodnight.