He wears the same sweater he wore since the beginning but I see everything so differently now. I resent that sweater and everything it represents. An alarming reminder: a cut-throat depiction of my own disillusionment.
So, l laughed. it was the only way I knew how to stop him. One insult after another leaves a girl either doing push-ups, in jail, or uses her mouth as an extension of her weapon. I chose C.
He was drunk, sloppy, a bickering child. I imagine a boy shaking his head frantically, pointing his finger in close proximity to anyone who gets into his heart. I see him shrinking and shrinking and shrinking and yelling and yelling and yelling as he gets smaller and smaller and smaller.
So, I laughed. Beat him at his own game. I laughed and laughed and laughed until the words slipped out, or better yet, demanded to be heard coming from the deepest parts of my stomach, “I feel bad for you” in the most condescending tone I could muster.
I know. But what do you do when someone burns you down?
