Did the title subject just freak you out?
No, I am not moody, nor high one moment, low the next.
It has been almost a week–and a hellish week at that.
That last dance? A little tease. For the males? Think a twenty five cent dirty XXX show of whatever it is you see there, so that you feed the pathetic little place another quarter, and another.
For the females? A friend’s immaculate home, on a nearby tiny ornate table, a candy dish full of light brown chocolates, each piece looks so decadent, your mouth waters…perfect. You reach your hand out, and touch…glass. Ah, what a conversation piece this decor!
Ah, what a tease!
Dancing last Saturday night was a tease. Men clamoring for me? A tease yet again.
THE CLOCK STRUCK TWELVE AND CINDERELLA WENT BACK TO HER USUAL LIFE–ONE OF REALITY–PAIN, A LIFE LIVED IN DISGUISE OF WIT, A FEAR OF REJECTION, A FEAR OF BEING LOVED, A FEAR OF BEING UNLOVED, A DREAM FOR A PRINCE, BUT FIRST SHE NEEDS THE GLASS SHOES–AND SHE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A JOB….
I don’t know why I was fired from this job. My shrink wants me to call the one that hired me and ask. That would be ripping open an unhealed wound and AIDING ITS FESTERING PROCESS.
I will not be hurt again.(Ha, yet I hurt myself so many times.)
In reality, I want to go back to baggy clothing…Not knowing what love might be, because again…I cannot be teased…and I CANNOT DANCE ANYMORE BECAUSE IF CINDERELLA REMEMBERS THE STEPS OF THE DANCE, SHE MAY HUM THE SONG TO THE STEPS AND REMEMBER A NIGHT THAT WILL ONLY BE A TEASE AND HAUNT HER BECAUSE SHE CANNOT REPEAT IT.