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.

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