By Thursday she was running on the remnants of confidence and off-brand bold roast. She's crafted the art of foam hearts in order to allude to her attachment to the illusions of love. At the very least, her mug can feel a little.
The bags under her eyes were amped for the trip of the century but she remained grounded, for she had no ticket to ride. She sometimes has fights with the girl wearing her clothes, criticizing her figure and her glutton tendencies. She sometimes scoffs at her markings in her college-ruled spiral. She thinks she's not enough and is starting to believe she is right. She's toying with the idea of intimacy but irresolution taunts her. Of the ones that come and go, most tend to meet a few prerequisites but, inevitably trip and fall short. She thirsts for more than shallow attributes but she's not thirsty. The infatuation is left out overnight and inevitably grows stale. The affection is not at all cringe-worthy, yet not at all consoling. The time spent seems to draw from her ambitions— no refunds or credits. Everything else is mediocre... at least in the moment. But when silence falls like the rain from a forecast, she sits with an empty duffle bag, pondering its fate; the potential of what it could hold and where it could bring her. Cash in her hand, she cashes in on her dreams to fill her bag with desires, pleasures, and flavors of new towns. She's out for a piece of peace. "Ca$h" her if you can...
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
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