The fasting period is over. I came away from it with the knowledge that I am exceptionally good at starving. The wild-haired girl can do well with water, and an eternal aching.
I cannot be bothered to slow down my thoughts anymore. Call in the watchmen to police sacred grounds, after midnight. Driving past the abandoned house, neglected by man, cared for by bad weather. A piece of me is buried there, waiting to be collected. My veins pulse upward, desperate to meet passing strangers. There’s something inside me that moans, drenched in sensual longing. It is too late for regret, when the desire to live is in full bloom. The petals are painted in vivid shades of the undeniable.
It isn’t right, or good, or fair for anyone to know me better than I can. I have no business being the strange girl who entered her bedroom, never really exiting. There is no one who can stop this internal struggle. The enemy within has always had its way. Rows and rows of an aggressive battalion, speeding past weak defenses. A well-executed plan of attack by foes created through my unchallenged thoughts. But, I exist! I rise!
My softwood will have to suffice. The fractured spine can still carry a body, with minor complaints. A wasted mind can be kept together with silver binding. So you say what you have to offer is different than what the others have. Not everyone likes apples. Some prefer the complexity of a fig.