Like a sentance of death, I've got no options left, I've got nothing to show now.

I'm down on the ground, I've got seconds to live, and you can't go now.

Cause love, like an invisible bullet, set me down, and I'm bleeding.

Yeah, I'm bleeding.

Every word I can remember is parading through my skull. Empty, hollow words. I try to find meaning, but I find I don't know what I'm looking at.

~

"Why?" I yell, half at the Scot, half at the quiet Friday night air.

Streetlamps stain the asphalt orange, glisten gold on rain slicked streets.

"Maybe he wanted to see you," he said, cringing at my loudness. "Or maybe he's just stupid."

I don't know, personally.

~

"Have you had a good event?" the young man asks. We are walking, close together but apart still. Skinny, wind stripped birches are like black lace against the sky.

I don't say anything for a moment, perhaps too long. I don't believe in lying, except occasionally.

"No," I say honestly. "Not really."

"How come?" he asks, politely, but also curiously.

"I have an ex on site," I explain, then pause. "Had," I amend. "He left this afternoon. It wasn't a good split. I would have rathered he didn't come."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the young man says, sounding like he has genuine regret in his voice.

"I mean," I say, unable to hold my tongue, "why would you drive two days here and two days back, when you know it's enemy territory?"

"Perhaps," he says slowly, "it was to see you."

"Yeah," I say bitterly. "But shit or get off the pot."

He seems genuinely shocked by my vulgarity, and I don't care. I grab fistfuls of my skirts and start stomping up the hill, heedless of where I'm putting my feet.

He doesn't follow, at least not immediately.

"Are you going to make me follow?" he asks. "Through the grass?"

I realize I've wandered off the path, but I don't care. There's something satisfying about stomping through the vegetation and scaring up all the mosquitos.

"Yes," I tell him, almost viciously, and I do.

.

Rosie.

Before&After