March 22nd, Year of Silence

I have driven sixty miles to catch a glimpse of Lapis Lazuli. For the first time in my oblivious life, I did not get lost making my way to him. He is over there, in that building that looks just like any other building. I feel like a huntress eyeing wounded prey. There Matthew is, there.

I am dressed in black, as if to bury my love for him, soon after I voice it. I know I arrived alone, and will leave much the same. A woman to never truly belong to any man.

I am nervous but appear strong, solid, confident. I can intimidate, while feeling overwhelmed.

As I got in my car earlier in the day, Joseph’s new lover found it necessary to scream out that I am a whore. There was nothing to argue, only smile in perverse satisfaction. She is threatened by me, for reasons well-imagined. She does not know, that she will always have the advantage. I am not open, not receptive to forming a bond that a man longs for.

None of that matters. I am here now. With Matthew. And still, I am more loyal to small, black print.

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March 22nd, Year of Silence

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