4:51 p.m. - 2006-08-22
formalism is a bad attitude
She is letting me talk, but I don't know what to say, what to do. I want to hold her, save her...but all she wants to do is run, to jump through plated glass, to taste the false sweetness of its shattered shards. She is pulled in a thousand pieces, like bitter taffy. She is searching for the one cloud that will allow her to evaporate.

She doesn't want to be saved.

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