Girl in her early twenties,.beware of the formidable glitter of wind resistant material, as you lace youself up in it. Delicate mascara shades her vulnerable eyelids. Unaware of the capabilities of raw disease concerning the flesh. Gathering objects in your expensive handbag,..Your grace and demeanor,..strolling down Park Ave. The harsh crude wind still disperses through rural greenery,..then continuing outward,..stretches beyond the city limits. Now pausing at a sidewalk intersection,..check your cellphone to see if you've missed anything.
The goals she achieved going into her junior year of college,..were attainable,.so naturally,..they were achieved. The weekend parties,..and of course,.. the boy down the hallway from her second story apartment. Every night before recreation initiated,..she would say to herself,."Not tonight,..I can't do that again tonight",..Yet every dreadful and inevitable evening she'd forfeit her prior ideals to the ultimate unraveling reality,..of miserable truth.
The morning cofee table,.blanketed with cigaret ash,..and false beliefs. The supposive intimate conversations,.. held with trivial strangers,...she managed to befriend,..then discard,.. into the adjacent living room wastebasket. One day it was all unbearable. The unpaid bills and neglected hygiene caught up with her, along with last night's escapades,..but what really did happed?,.. her friends desired to know,..or so they pleaded,..then exited. Trying to recall what transpired the night before was indeed impossible. She just knew,.. whatever did happen,..she wouldn't recover,..or ever be the same again,...emotionally.
Many years ago there was a playground near the old school she attended,..that she would often frequent with her mother. Every Sunday after Catholic mass they would rest there,..on the wooden painted merry- go- round. Her mother would ask her "Would you like me to push you ?" She always said "No".
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