Random Channel Surfing

Meeting him was a calm sea after the storm. the quiet moments after a gun blast. Meeting him was the salve for her burn. the refreshing cool water trickling down her trachea. Meeting him, meeting him, meeting him. She was the raging sea -- waves crashing, tide rising, despair and moaning washing onto shore. She was the pulling of the trigger -- taut, then unwound, the crash, the boom, the crackle and thunder. She was burning, pining,  desperate for him. She was parched, thirsty,  needing his sustenance in her life. He was all this and more. She  was all this and more.

To fill the void. To numb the pain. To feel alive. Whatever the reason. Who knows. Who cares. Whatever whatever. He used me; (and like a fool) I let him get away with it.

she keeps getting told she ought to have told him how she feels but she did tell him in the way she held his gaze in the way she said his name in the way she stroked his arm in the way she smiled at him she was exposed to his x-ray eyes she was honest and transparent and vulnerable and got nothing for it he took her admission of affection and threw it away like       it                meant                               nothing she keeps getting told that she ought to have told him how she feels no one knows she did