My punishment will have two parts. Three if you count this part actually. The next time we attend a GRALE event, i will have to be on all fours and follow Him around that way. I will be allowed to talk, but i will not be permitted to raise my eyes from his feet.

When the time comes, I will be told to remove His boots and sponge bathe first one foot in a warm foot bath. I will make sure each and every inch of that foot is clean. Then i will his toes, one by one into my mouth and suck on them. After that i will suck on his entire foot. i will lick it and love it, and cherish it the way i should. His other foot will be next, and i will give it the same attention and adoration that i gave the first foot.

Daddy will judge if i have done my job well, if i have performed to the best of my abilities, and if He is fully satisfied with my task. i will be denied His cock until that time.

This punishment will be repeated the next time i attend GD2 with Daddy as well.

I misbehaved and i do feel as though i deserve to be punished. This will be humiliating to me on so many levels. To have it happen at GRALE, with my peers, my friends will be so embarrassing. To have it happen at GD2, in front of people i barely know will truly push that line of humiliation with me.

A note about this; I love humiliation play. While i will feel chastened about my punishment, i have no doubt that i will be wet because of the humiliation. The scene happening at GD2 will probably be both the hardest and the easiest to do. Hard, because it’s humiliating to be shamed so in front of people you don’t know, but easy because i know that i might never see some of those people again.The night at GRALE will certainly be the more challenging to me.

And another note; I consented to this. He is the one who gets to decide what i get punished for and what i don’t. I also have the choice to follow through with this. Please don’t feel that it is your job to be indignant on my behalf or judge whether it is justified. This is our relationship, our rules. Thank you.

I’m sure you’ve seen Him before, with me following around behind Him like a love-sick kitty, my eyes big and round, with stars in them.

He’s handsome, in that good Italian-stock kind of way.

His smile is wide when He shows it, which is often, and his lips are incredibly  sensual.

He has these hands… firm hands, brutal at times. They can smack and punch and slap me into tears, and then gently push the hair out of my eyes and caress my face with them. He even holds me tight with this big hands, cuddling me to sleep.

His eyes haunt my dreams. That dreamy sadistic cruelty that may sicken a lesser woman, but only serves to make me ready for when He wants to use me.

I feel like we were meant to be together. That i knew i was meant to be His from the moment i saw Him. This may sound exaggerated, but if you ask a few people about that night, they will tell you it’s true.

When we sleep together His body curls around mine, protecting me, keeping me safe. If He happens to turn away, He still reaches for me, to touch me in His sleep, as if to reassure Himself that i’m in the proper place. Little does He know that I will be in that place for as long as He will have me.

When we are at parties, and i wander around being the social butterfly i can feel His eyes on me as i wander around. He doesn’t worry i will stray, but He’s always making sure i’m safe.

There is this scar on His shaved head and i always want to kiss it and lick it.

Our meeting was pure chance. The stars aligned for us and the momentum of life pushed us forward into this, and i fell into it, with arms and eyes open wide, ready for where the journey would take us.

On this fateful night that seems so long ago, a girl without a father found a Daddy, and a man without children found a babygirl.

I have ambitions, but they are vague and for the future. I have motivation, but that’s mostly for the “now”, getting through each day. My goals are personal triumphs that matter little to the world around me. Some days, because of a sundry list of crap that is wrong with me, it’s a huge triumph just to get out of bed.

But….

I subscribe to this daily email that sends you little notes about your place in the Universe. It is, appropriately, called [Notes From the Universe][http://www.tut.com/resources/notes/]. The tagline is;

*What if the Universe were to send you little reminders of your power, life’s magic and how much you’re loved.*

How cool is that? I “get” that. Most days they go into the trash unread, the advice discarded. Today i was awake when mine came in. I’m usually awake when they come in at about 3:15am.

Today I feel a little bit less lost because of the Universe;

Mel, it’s the way you think. That’s your purpose. It’s never been about what work you choose, what gifts you develop, or what niche you fill – let these be for your pleasure.

Think as only you can think, which will lead to feelings that only you can feel, from which connections will be made, lives will be changed, and worlds will come tumbling into existence.

Thanks,
The Universe

Thanks right back at ya.

Let me tell you about how wonderful my husband is;

He is my soulmate. He is patient. He loves me for me. He understands when i just need to be angry. He gives me space. He invades my space. He humps me in his sleep. He lets me have other lovers. He has had other lovers himself. He trusts me. He is quiet when he leaves for work at 5 am. He loves my cat. He is the best father that i could ever have wished for my child. He never listens to me. He always listens to me. He can be rough with me when i need it. He can be soft and gentle when we both need it. He is calm. He tries not to worry me. He calls when he’s going to be late at work. When he’s drunk, he adds an “S” to the end of every word. He also doesn’t stop smiling when he is drunk. He loves Family Guy. He puts up with it when i watch really cheesy girly shows like “Glee” and “America’s Got Talent”. He deliberately avoids the channel that has “Dirty Dancing” on it because he knows I’ll make him watch it. He checks out other women when we are together, and points the hot ones out to me so i can appreciate them too. He checks out other men when we are out. He will crawl for me. He brings me Ben & Jerry’s, even when i’m on a diet. He reminds me i’m on a diet when i’m standing in front of the chips and dip. He doesn’t get jealous. He puts up with my shit.

EDIT: Oh there are a couple more. He kills spiders for me, even though he doesn’t like them either. He goes out to the garage in the middle of the night with me to find a book for me. He laughs at me when i do something stupid.

There are so many more, i’m sure. But right now, in this moment these are the ones that matter.

It has been used a number of times to show solidarity for causes, or people in pain in movies and TV shows. Now it’s been used for the Help For Haiti campaign with great effect.

Watch the Videos, all three of them if you have the time. They all are inspiring and hopeful in their own way. Or, just read the lyrics if you scroll down just a bit, they may help you through your next bad day.

Video for REM’s Everybody Hurts -

Video for Help For Haiti’s Everybody Hurts – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ts1HxVopG2k – Very Graphic
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zugOJU8bds – Not as graphic but JUST as powerful…

Just as an aside, please don’t forget that people in Haiti still need our help and donations to the Red Cross for food and services. Help is also needed with the Gulf Oil spill.

Close to home, SO much help is needed with the Oil Spill on the Kalamazoo River. More than 800 gallons of crude oil has pumped into the river.

Support your local Red Cross by donating or volunteering.

http://www.redcross.org/portal/site/en/menuitem.1a019a978f421296e81ec89e43181aa0/?vgnextoid=c788a0c29f32a210VgnVCM10000089f0870aRCRD

When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone,
When you’re sure you’ve had enough of this life, well hang on
Don’t let yourself go, ’cause everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it’s time to sing along
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you’ve had too much of this life, well hang on

‘Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts. Don’t throw your hand. Oh, no. Don’t throw your hand
If you feel like you’re alone, no, no, no, you are not alone

If you’re on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
When you think you’ve had too much of this life to hang on

Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
Everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on
Everybody hurts. You are not alone

Song compliments of REM

It Waits
Patiently
Quietly
For that moment
To
Strike
At whatever falls
Into it’s well woven trap
Of deceit and lies

What to believe of that tangled web

Does one pick apart the strands
To find the truth

Or does one believe
That the pattern IS the truth
And not bother to find
Where it begins
And where it ends.

I have fibromyalgia. See? It doesn’t exist even on spell check! It doesn’t have the same resonance as “I have leukemia.” or “I have a brain tumor.” but i promise you it has just the same weight to me and the other people that have it.

The last 8 years I’ve had test upon test upon test trying to figure out “what” is wrong with me. I’m on anti-depressants, but I don’t feel better. My whole body hurts, but i don’t have arthritis. I struggle to sleep, but when i do, i sleep for 16 hours straight. I get confused easily and forget words that i’ve known my whole life. Don’t even get me started on what’s going on down in my intestinal tract.

It was one little bump that I’ve had for a couple of years that finally gave me a diagnosis. I’ve had this sore bump in my back that kind of felt like a marble under my skin. I thought it was just maybe a cyst or something. When i went to the doctor for a regular med-check we talked about my pain and possibly changing medications for it, but that the medication i am on should have helped with it. So i shrugged, figured i’d just keep taking some ibuprofen and asked him to look at my back. Apparently these painful little spots are muscle fiber clusters and are caused by fibromyalgia and not much else. It took me a few moments to figure out what that meant. I finally had a diagnosis. It was a really SHITTY diagnosis.

I’ve been working hard at being positive, and being proactive. The doctor has sent me to an acupuncturist which is working out really well. Hopefully it will work up to having more pain free days than painful ones, which i have confidence it will.

So, you don’t have to pray for me, or light a candle, or give me any sympathy or pity. You can if you’d like, I would be very happy to have your well wishes, except the pity, you can keep that.

There are two things that i’ve found elsewhere that have really explained very well what is going on with me, and will probably continue to, and i’m including them here. So, thank you for caring enough to read this, and please don’t be hurt if i can’t make it to a party or gathering. Please don’t be offended if i’m not the sort of hyper, bubbly “Happy Goth” that you’ve known in the past. It’s too hard to keep up that pace anymore. I’ll still be me, just a bit more cautious me.

LOVE LETTER TO NORMALS

Here is my letter written to explain to family and friends what it’s like to have fibromyalgia. It won’t work miracles: it’s hard to understand our illness from the outside looking in.  But it is a start and can open the door to important dialogues. You are all welcome to use it, either as is, or as a basis for writing your own.  Remember that you have a responsibility to tell those close to you what is wrong and communicate as clearly as you can how you feel and what you need.  The best time to do that is when you are not upset!

Fibromyalgia isn’t all in my head, and it isn’t contagious. It doesn’t turn into anything serious and nobody ever died from fibromyalgia (thought they might have wished they could on really awful days!!) If you want to read articles or books about fibromyalgia I can show you some that I think are good. If you just want to learn as we go along, that’s fine too. This is definitely going to be a process. The first step is for you to believe that there is an illness called fibromyalgia and that I have it. This may sound simple, but when you hear about my symptoms I don’t want you to think I’m making this all up as I go along.

Fibromyalgia is a high maintenance condition with lots and lots of different kinds of symptoms. There’s no way to just take a pill to make it go away, even for a little while. Sometimes a certain medication can make some of my symptoms more bearable. That’s about the best I can hope for. Other times I may take a lot of medication and still won’t feel any better. That’s just the way it goes. I can’t control how often I feel good or when I’m going to feel terrible. Lots of people have been cutting new drugs advertisements out of magazines for me and I appreciate the thought, but I’ve seen them too.  Look at the list of side effects and the few symptoms they help in return.  Even in the best studies those expensive compounds didn’t help over half the people who tried them.  No matter how happy the people in the pictures look, there’s still no miracle drug available.

There’s no cure for fibromyalgia and it won’t go away. If I am functioning normally, I am having a good day. This doesn’t mean I’m getting better — I suffer from chronic pain and fatigue for which there is no cure. I can have good days, several good weeks or even months. But a good morning can suddenly turn into a terrible afternoon. I get a feeling like someone has pulled out a plug and all my energy has just run out of my body. I might get more irritable before these flares, and suddenly get more sensitive to noise or just collapse from deadening fatigue. Weather changes can have a big effect on how I feel.  Other times there may be no warning, I may just suddenly feel awful. I can’t warn you when this is likely to happen because there isn’t any way for me to know. Sometimes this is a real spoiler and I’m sorry. The sadness I feel for what my illness does to those around me is more than I can easily describe.  You may remember me as a light-hearted fun loving person — and it hurts me that I am no longer what I was.

Fibromyalgics have a different kind of pain that is hard to treat. It is not caused by inflammation like an injury. It is not a constant ache in one place like a broken bone. It moves around my body daily and hourly and changes in severity and type. Sometimes it is dull and sometimes it is cramping or prickly. Sometimes it’s jabbing and excruciating. If Eskimos have a hundred words for snow, fibromyalgics should have a hundred words for pain. Sometimes I just hurt all over like I’ve been beaten up or run over by a truck.  Sometimes I feel too tired to lift up my arm.

Besides pain, I have muscle stiffness which is worse in the morning and evenings. Sometimes when I get up out of a chair I feel like I am ninety years old. I may have to ask you to help me up. I’m creaky and I’m klutzy. I trip over things no one can see, and I bump into the person I am walking with and I drop things and spill things because my fingers are stiff and my coordination is off. I just don’t seem to connect the way I should. Hand-eye, foot-eye coordination, it’s all off. I walk slowly up and down stairs because I’m stiff and I’m afraid I might fall. When there’s no railing to hold on to, it’s terrifying.

Because I feel bad most of the time, I am always pushing myself, and sometimes I just push myself too hard. When I do this, I pay the price. Sometimes I can summon the strength to do something special but I will usually have to rest for a few days afterwards because my body can only make so much energy. I pay a big price for overdoing it, but sometimes I have to. I know it’s hard for you to understand why I can do one thing and not another. It’s important for you to believe me, and trust me about this. My limitations, like my pain and my other symptoms are invisible, but they are real.

Another symptom I have is problems with memory and concentration which is called fibrofog. Short-term memory is the worst! I am constantly looking for things. I have no idea where I put down my purse, and I walk into rooms and have no idea why. Casualties are my keys which are always lost, my list of errands, which I write up and leave on the counter when I go out. Even if I put notes around to remind myself of important things, I’m still liable to forget them. Don’t worry, this is normal for fibromyalgics. Most of us are frightened that we are getting Alzheimer’s. New kinds of brain scans have actually documented differences in our brains.

I mentioned my sensitivities earlier and I need to talk about them again. It’s more like an intolerance to everything. Noise, especially certain noises like the television or shrill noises can make me jittery and anxious. Smells like fish or some chemicals, or fragrances or perfume can give me headaches and nausea. I also have a problem with heat and cold. It sounds like I’m never happy but that isn’t it. These things make me physically ill. They stress me out and make my pain worse and I get exhausted. Sometimes I just need to get away from something, I just don’t know how else to say it. I know sometimes this means I will have to go outside, or out to the car, or go home to sit alone and that’s really all right. I don’t want or need you to give up doing what’s important to you. That would only make me feel worse.  Sometimes when I feel lousy I just want to be by myself. When I’m like this there’s nothing you can do to make me feel better, so it’s just better to let me be.

I have problems sleeping. Sometimes I get really restless and wake up and can’t get back to sleep. Other times I fall into bed and sleep for fourteen hours and still be tired. Some nights I’ll toss and turn and not be able to sleep at all. Every little thing will keep me awake.  I’m sure that’s confusing to be around, and I know there are times when my tossing and turning and getting up and down to go to the bathroom disturbs you. We can talk about solutions to this.

All these symptoms and the chemical changes in my brain from pain and fatigue can make me depressed as you’d imagine. I get angry and frustrated and I have mood swings. Sometimes I know I’m being unreasonable but I can’t admit it. Sometimes I just want to pull the covers over my head and stay in bed. These emotions are all very strong and powerful. I know this is a very hard thing about being with me. Every time you put up with me when I’m in one of my moods, secretly I’m grateful. I can’t always admit it at the time, but I’m admitting it now. One thing I can tell you is it won’t help to tell me I’m irrational.  I know I am, but I can’t help it when it’s happening.

I have other symptoms like irritable bowel, muscle spasms and pelvic pain that will take their toll on our intimacies. Some of these symptoms are embarrassing and hard to talk about but I promise to try. I hope that you will have the patience to see me through these things. It’s very hard for me too because I love you and I want to be with you, and it makes everything worse when you are upset and tired of dealing with all my problems. I have made a promise to myself and now I am making it to you: I will set aside time for us to be close. During that time we will not talk about my illness. We both need time to get away from its demands. Though I may not always show it I love you a million times more for standing by me. Having to slow down physically and having to get rid of unnecessary stresses will make our relationship stronger.

The Spoon Theory
by Christine Miserandino www.butyoudontlooksick.com
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?
I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.
As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.
At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.
I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.
Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.
She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become?
I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.
I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.
I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.
When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.
I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.
After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”
Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.

There is so much she wants to say, to scream and wishes she could be heard. But her mouth is only a line of stitches forced into a smile, so she can never speak. Besides her head is full of sawdust, so she can have no real thoughts.

Brighter, shinier toys zoom through the room, a new one every day, while she collects dust on the floor.

Is she REAL? Does the skin horse tell the truth? Will she one day be loved for just who she is?

Each day that passes, her eyes lose their luster, the rosiness fades from her cheeks and the curl falls from her sewn in hair. She has no sharp corners, and doesn’t break easily, but she is still treated delicately as if she may shatter the world around her.

What will she be when her stuffing falls out, and she begins to unravel? Bit by bit she becomes less herself. Those memories fading with the flowers on her dress, the words left unspoken and her eyes dull with the tears she cannot shed.

Sometimes they end messy, sometimes they end civilly. Sometimes when they end hearts are broken and tears are shed. The words uttered and can not be taken back, nor should they be.

She looked back at the time that was shared and shook her head, wondering if it was right or wrong. Rules were broken and secrets shared. But once you tell a secret, it isn’t a secret anymore. Endings happen, like they often do, and she will wake up tomorrow, ready for another day, still expecting her Prince Charming with an evil glint in his eye, and ending up with the villain in sheep’s clothing.

Or perhaps that should be the sheep in the villain’s clothing?

Only she knows the truth, but that is one story that shan’t be told.

finis

Who do you talk to when you aren’t sure what you are going to say?

What answers can you expect when you don’t know the questions?

Why must it be this way?

When will it end?

How hard do you have to scream in order to be heard?