fooled myself

everything is perfect, everything looks pretty. everything smells sweet, tastes electric. it all adds up, and fuels her addiction. she finds it hard to divert her eyes. she becomes tactile, and then she finds that her heart pains, something a little like the pain you have in your stomach after refraining from eating for far too long.

of course, this pain of the heart is then associated with a hunger, and her mouth waters. her tongue flicks across her lips and she can almost taste what is to come. decadence from another world; in a league of its own. her eyes glint in anticipation, and her teeth begin to clatter. waiting is an endlessly torturous experience.

she can no longer play with this distraction in her palm, she must have what she came for in the first place. her heart has become erratic and the appetence pangs are gradually becoming unbearably persistent. she attempts to occupy herself by trying to name the unrelenting pain. she comes up with desire; yearning; want; vacancy; void; famine.

she hates to sound cliche, so she says nothing. she talks, but she says nothing. there is so much she could be saying, so much she could elaborate on. but she speaks words of unimportant excess instead.

because saying anything notable would bring about vulnerability. and everybody would be able to see, everybody would come to their senses.

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