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She fiddled with the covers in her hands, the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder. She’d regretted calling the moment he picked up.
“Listen … I just called to work out a way to uhm… get you your book back.” She swallowed her stomach doing cartwheels. Since the other day she’d regained her strength to call, but the fear still overpowered her. Fear of what; not even she was sure.

“So…you don’t want to even … talk anymore huh.” He said on the other end.

”I’ve been having your bitter breakup in my mind…” she sighed. “Listen – it’s not even just that, I just… You don’t even want a real relationship right now, and … and I wonder if you just … didn’t … well it was more the ideal of me … than me myself that attracted you … mean you just… I …” Words at times like this were never her strong point.

”Right.” He said quietly on the other end.

She sighed and crossed her legs in the bed, sitting Indian-style as she desperately clung to the hope that maybe - - just maybe - - all of this would turn out to be a bad dream. All of it was perhaps; just a little bit of … what had Scrooge called it – “Indigestion”?

Things had been hard lately - - she wondered what path she should choose. To continue forcing herself to not feel - - or to give in and let herself be taken once more. She sat on pins and needles as she contemplated the meaning of Anna Nalick’s “Wreck of the Day”

[/i]'Cuz love doesn’t hurt so I know I'm not falling in love
I'm just falling to pieces
And if this is giving up then I'm giving up
If this is giving up then I'm giving up, giving up
On love, On love[/i]

She had a feeling that that described her at the moment. On the edge of what could be the rest of her life – waiting … longing for someone to push her in – so that she didn’t have to blame herself for jumping.

If I do this She told herself I’ll only have myself to blame … no one else now. And she solemnly believed that that was what she feared the most. To give up – to give in – to take her life and dive into it without a second look back.
After all - - what would it matter if she jumped and looked back – she would already be freefalling down that dreaded abyss that so claimed her soul. Who would be on the cliff – looking over to her?
Only the memory of herself – wistfully desiring the answer to that question she was asking herself just moments before:

What have I done?

If I knew all I know now...then. I'd have still made the same mistakes - - because I wouldn't believe myself.


The following comments are for "Not that You'd Understand . . . (Pt. 1)"
by unluckymonkey

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