Thinking of her
Thinking of her, I am filled with rage. I let it go too many times. I was not angry enough, and now I am fueled by it. But the tragedy is that it is, now, too late. Time has gone and passed, and with it the need, the person, the time.
There is a strange intensity to her. I can feel her anger, straining to come out, a pain that refuses to be hidden. I can feel her.