*centurian
the dusty, yellowed pages reminds me of what we were and who i am now...
cleaning up my drawer today left me with a nasty surprise;
To: _______
No Busybodies it read.
As I perused the original letter and its blatantly style-copied reply, I cringed in shame. pity. sorrow. The naive words I had put to paper, baring all but my heart for you to stomp all over. I had expected to feel a semblence of anger for the child that I was, with no thoughts of my own -- a puppet. but the anger is long gone now, vanished the day when you felt the pain I'm sure I did when I read your careless, heartless words. your selfish, thinly-veiled insults finally caught up with those dearest to you. But even now, the feeling of triumph is but a shadow of memory. I am no longer who I was and I saw you come to understand that in the past 2 years. Reaching past you to soar so much higher. I no longer need your attentions like how I once did.
I'm much stronger now, darling.
and those yellowed letters? well into the dustbin they go.
SWEETlove
5:54 pm
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-faery-
19
femme
prancing ponies
jazz
glass bubble.
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