Sitting on his bed I know that he isn’t good enough for me. His bad-boy persona, character flaws and insecurity have drawn me closer. I realize that I am that foolish fluttering firefly on a cold winter night caught suddenly in a child’s hands. Once I’m there I dance along the lines of the child’s palm instead of flying away. Will my wings be slowly torn from my back, paralyzing me, releasing me from my freedom, my flight? How have I capitulated my dignity, my willpower? Tingling sensations run across my body, as my hands grip then trace the turning folds of the soiled sheets around me. I want to lie in them, with him, but how many other girls have lain here too? He’s next to me and in my mind, how he leaves me staring at myself in the mirror, doubting, questioning. The light slowly dissipates through the un-drawn shades, highlighting the scattered clothing, the misplaced everything. His hand reaches for me and I want it so badly, I want to extend my own, but I can’t. He hasn’t ensnared me yet. I have danced along his palm for far too long. I will keep my wings.
Antonia