2003-08-16 @ 11:17 p.m.
...and her porcelain hands, they fell. Shattered. They shattered on the earth beneath her, and I could only watch her cry.
Broken pieces of her angry grasp lay beneath my feet. Crunch. I crunched her hands, her porcelain grips, beneath me. Beneath us.
Fragments of her control now lay as dust. Dust in the air. Dust on our clothes. Dust clinging to me. Her dust is with me...
...and I can feel her here. My severed strings sway in the wind, and her control haunts me. Her dust, the ghost of her control. The ghost of her.
She hasn't come back, yet. I fear she will.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
A moment of typing-spontaneity.
Listening to: "Changes" by David Bowie
everything © Claudia (2003-2008)