The drive home was sickening. I wanted to pull over and throw out the things that were racing through my head. He told me he didn't love me, and that he never could. And I was the fool who could give away a bleeding heart to someone who did not even want it. I don't understand why he didn't tell me before he stole my desireable plum. I guess he wanted such fruit so bad he didn't care if it hurt anyone. The repetitive marks on the road, a silvery white, were his words running over and over in my mind. "You are nothing to me, anymore," he said cooler than ice. He may have been sitting in that chair while I stood but he was still looking down at me. I was always the child, and he the abuser who took too much. I wish I could spit in his face the same way he molested me, but the purple clouds are crying now. The sky is too far to be kissed with such chapped lips.