I wish I could take the hands of time and turn them in reverse
I'd take back every long goodbye with venom in my words
Maybe she’s unstable. Maybe her mind has finally splintered and she’s left with the nonsensical pieces of it and has to make do. Maybe she’s just always had a little streak of crazy in her—something that she has been all too happy to indulge over the years. But suddenly the self-reflected, self-loathing turns outward, it nearly explodes out of her in a force that nearly knocks her to the ground; something all-consuming.
“And what do you know about me?”
Her teeth are bared again and there are tears in her eyes, her face still beautiful despite the things that she is so convinced make it ugly. She wants him to react, to say something. She wants him to feel this storm in her chest and know that he can’t just sit here and watch her come apart without feeling anything.
She wishes that she had so many of those gifts that now run rampant through Beqanna. She wishes that she could force him to understand. She wishes that she could drown him in her pain until he finally realized what it means to burn with it. Anything but the impassive way that he stares at her now, anything but the stoic, unchanging face as she rips herself apart and then he—oh, he just dismisses it completely.
“You don’t even know my name,” she spits and takes a step forward, her muscles trembling beneath her scaled exterior. “How do you know whether I’m mean or not?” She regrets how vulnerable she has been with him—how open she’s been even though he’s given her literally not a single reason to be. He’s just been quiet and what previously felt like a place where she could talk feels like judgement.
It sets her blood on fire, leaves her furious and embarrassed and desperate for a shred of dignity.
“I could tear your throat out and not regret it for a second,” she lies, taking another step forward.
the only way to being found is getting lost at first
but all I find are more bridges to burn
