Kymmie The Writer

 Raw writing: The Suicide of Her

If you were screaming my name a thousand times, repeating the same 8 octaves I probably wouldn’t hear you. My head was cloudy and full of clustered yet buoyant thoughts and unfamiliar emotions. 30 days exactly, and not a minute longer- my life has become a brand new screen play. A new book. Taking me as its co-star, no longer the feature. My role has been replaced with unwarranted desires, a lover with soft hands. I sit Indian style on my cream leather sofa, watching the cream-colored walls. In just minutes, this unwarranted desire will be knocking on my door, probably pissed from the phone call I’d made the night before. The unnecessary call to her husband, it wasn’t what I intended on doing, after all she was supposed to meet me at Panera to talk about our relationship, and didn’t show up. I was determined to start disarray. “Tell your…

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