Unkempt

The silence followed even longer than she expected. There she sat, wondering if this was again a pause or if she had ruined it permanently. But had she ruined it? All she did was ask a question about why she was spending her time, her Energy, her payfe, and other treats.

She has a right to know. This is her personal wealth she is slowly, but steadily depleting as she makes all these investments, although totally unsure of their possible prosperity, hoping that one of these investments will be her Derecha.

It is similar to a crack cocaine addiction. That Derecha high, although it dissipates, ignites some mechanism of memory that maintains a sliver of the greatness of the high to make her chase it for the rest of her damn life.

And sometimes she knows very well that this could not possibly be her next high. The ingredients of that particular drug will not induce that Derecha. And even with that knowledge, she pays for the pill anyway, hoping to at least mimic the high or create the high on a lower level.

He is not it. The mind, the body, the culture, the goals, the right idiosyncrasies or the right inexplicable passion that cancels out the lack of all the aforementioned attributes: he is not those things.

But chase is engaging and even if not fulfilling…it is better than standing, full, as a Styrofoam woman.