Thursday, 10pm

she needs closure...in whatever manner.

 

Thursday, 10 p.m.

 

  

She has no right, she knows.

Still, she feels empty tonight.

She didn't see you, not even for a minute.

She has been denied - that one, small, illusory pleasure nurtured only by her imagination.

It is, apparently, not as important to you, as it is to her.

What do you fear? or whom?

 

She has no right, she's sure.

Still, emotions rise full tonight.

You said you wanted to be with her, at least this night, even for a minute.

 

This night will go. And so will you.

For one minute, her imagination full of its images races to the next.

Her reality lies still in her world with a shaking, silent pen overflowing with ink to spill and garrotte her bitter memory of you.