It sickens me that I continue to seek satisfaction from an external and unreliable world. I scream for it to love and accept me. I expect too much from her, from him, from the night that cannot fill me up.
I have room for every star in the galaxy, and three hundred moons orbit my heart. And underneath every cell, you will find the fossilized dreams of a woman who promised to make something out of them, when the time was right. I am the graveyard of every ray the sun has to give.
The wind picks up outside, a reminder that every trace of us will be swept away in time, to make room for someone else.
In seven days time, I will be leaving for Arizona. Juliet has decided to leave her husband, but feels she is incapable of making the move back to California on her own. In truth, my sister has never been the type to do anything, if not forced, or aided in some way.