Lain

Just Me

I. Love. You.

Three words. Three phonemes, even. But so much bloody
meaning . . .

I'm sure none of the scenarios I've stirred up in my mind
are remotely close to what would happen if, in real life, I
were to direct those three words at him.

Oh, well.

I've been taking a stroll in my mind for the past week,
anyhow. What's real life to a person flying broomsticks in
her mind on the way to the station? What do I need with
reality when entire nights belong to only me?

Even tonight, this night on the town we've got planned, when
surely we'll be speeding with wind through the windows
rolled down, hanging limbs, laughter, rock music, lights.

At the end it's only me.

And he's not going, to try and persuade me otherwise.