We both liked peanut butter, Rick and I, who are nothing like Anne and I. Yes, I understand this has been sung before, but my voice has improved. It would fill a grand hall from top to bottom, and back to front. Many would be moved, especially those that love a sorrowful tune.
I listened to Rick. Every word he said made an attempt to float away from me, into a space where all things are forgotten. I hung on to them like little kites, and pulled them back in. I held my breath just to listen completely. With some effort, I became those words, and any feeling they contained. But now, there is nothing.
I sit here with arms cut open, slits decorating wrist to shoulder, hoping to bleed out everything I thought I could never feel. I want to be free of this, to go back to a life that did not satisfy, but was predictable. A glass of wine and a cup of coffee. Dripping blood and the scars that will be hidden, until the passing of time removes them to a blur. No need to worry, I don’t do this often. This type of behavior wasn’t made for girls like me. I am better than them. Better than some, at least. See, here I am, coming back to myself.
Are you there Charlie Brown? It’s me, Lucy.