I assessed his worth and determined that it exceeds my own. That was my mistake. And on those still nights, in which even skeptics fear the tormented ghost of a woman who died too soon, Matthew’s name still haunts me. His flight is faster than mine. The Aquarius is meant to fly, the Aquarius is made of an ocean of emotions. Like my sister, and her telling eyes.
I saw her this weekend, my sister. We did little else, but see each other. She has nothing to say these days. Her thoughts are focused on a husband that does not care. Her heart is ripped to shreds by circumstances she has placed herself in, and she attaches each red line into unsuspecting victims, hoping to siphon blood back into her weakened limbs.
A moment of weakness can change everything, when had in the presence of one who would take advantage of such a state. My sister’s life is defined by said moments.