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Her
Her
OK thats easy. No problem. I do as I am told. I just lie there. And suddenly, thoughts
about the absence of thoughts start sprouting. About decay. About the futility of
existence. About perversion and decadence. About the absence of an exit route. This
cocktail of negativity constricts me. I feel short of breath. I wait for her disapproval.
Even a clicking of the tongue would be like a drop of water in a parched mouth. But
she is not there. She is gone. Her absence feels like a dead-weight tied to my legs,
dragging me to the depths of a bottomless abyss. She wont come back. She is too
haughty to be affected by compassion and sympathy. She wont give a second thought
to the plight of this tormented soul, for she has many others to tend to. And I lie there
in the deafening silence, twisting and squirming, praying that she blesses me
tomorrow; hoping that she takes my hand and leads me through this treacherous
night, to a morning of sunshine and possibility.