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Date Posted: 19:55:09 04/29/02 Mon
Author: the Lady
Subject: Monologue

You ask when "should" and "supposed to" crept into my vocabulary; "should" came the night I learned to be afraid, alone in a subway with two guys who had no other sport. "Supposed to" came every time I tried, and was shot down by all those fascinating boys who I don't seem to interest. I'm not Orange Scarlet Glory to anyone else. I say that I wonder why my journal entries are conversations with you, but when I'm honest I know god-damned well why. Of all the people I've ever know, you're the only one that, that, sees me for all the best than I can be. "Like a sickness and it's cure." We carved out chucks of ourselves together, yes, together. Each with a hand on the knife; bloody muscle and grey steel. The blood on that knife now in my veins, whispers as I drive home. It's cold and the rain falls as slush, I don't hear the cd playing, just that whispering mingled with wet wheels. I want to scream to you, but my stoic lips hold still. Mother feels like me tonight, wanting to be spring, but still stuck in the familiar cold of winter. I watch the world from behind my long hair, heavy coat, and new glasses; they are my layers, protecting me from from dissappointment... I let you tell me that I was that Orange Scarlet Glory, a brilliant laughing flame, a wise and beautiful goddess, but no one else I've shown myself to sees me that way. They don't look in my eyes to see the woman you think me, the magnificent woman you so cruelly convinced me I am. I used to wonder why I couldn't see all the yous I've known through time reflected back in your eyes, as I see them in other friends... tonight I realized it's because they are all the same you; the you I talk to when I'm alone, the you who sees the all of me.

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