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emotions are musically-influenced.
he enjoyed prog rock.
she called it discordant jazz.
their musical collections were similar yet just out of key.
she must have eviscerated him that night she remembers nothing except calling him a coward and a demon. Is that enough to throw away it all?
perhaps if you'd gotten fat.
drank every day.
pretended it was all fine.
She wondered if she was taking too much time to mourn this. it had been seven months and seven days since he hit her across the infested face repeatedly screaming "you're fucking crazy". then flipping her over and slapping her and saying "bad girl." repeatedly.
It's almost sort of time plus tragedy yet not yet.
there was so much filth and pain in the toilet. the infestation kept coming out of her body and he just sat there wishing he could still make love.
so to speak
to speak perchance to dream.
Andy never spoke.
he touted being a good listener.
he followed direction when he wanted to and was a devotee of ayn rand extraordinaire. his feelings were one of a collector. he enjoyed being associated with objects and humans of quality. prestige. God, he would have loved a real royal princess, yet he settled for the second "I love you" attempt on a more manageable prize: a settler croning manic pixie dream girl. Kristy could be gorgeous in certain lights and those were the lights from which he chose to see her.
He fell in limerence with her in a way she'd never experienced. She'd never had a sane father of three whom she had given away nothing almost of her self assume with complete clarity that she was his savior - what he'd been waiting for his whole life - the person for whom his life now made sense.
"I talk about you all the time to my kids. I keep saying "Kristen this. Kristen that."
"Oh, who wouldn't love hearing that."
"they want to meet you."
"I'm sure to please you."
"they will love you. you would make an excellent mother."
good lord she felt he was the most interesting person for that surety. It was intoxicating. She chose him because he was completely different than any potential she'd had before: she felt next to nothing. He was very kind to her when her cat died.
She experienced the same patted back and reassurances "you're a good person" two nights before he beat her, so memory rots.
the place she had finally gotten on this 7.7 day was that it was silly to expect someone she considered narcissistic and on the autism spectrum to at all mourn her or say good bye or have empathy. She had been fooled by the midnight whispers and the memory of whispered "I love you so much". The pattern was a familiar one.
And she had just taken a bath in the white flowers that her new friend she met at the fathers'office/peacekeeper bar around the corner - had suggested, and she had mourned Andrew. said good bye to him. It is what it is.
when girls like her, she feels wary.
when boys like her, she feels safe.
the beat goes on.
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