A cold breeze whips her hair across her face, cigarette smoke fills the empty space between the two
Sitting under a starless wintery sky, she pours herself another glass..
I hear it.. I hear the torturess breaking of her delicate heart, as she wipes the snot from her nose roughly with the back of her hand..
“You know what my problem is?” She mutters under her whiskey-ridden breath..
“I seek a man that moves my being,” She inhales slowly; unsteadly, “But do you know what I fear with that?”
And without waiting for an answer, she looks me dead in the eye, almost pleading – a fleeting desire to be understood.. A single, lonely tear crawls down her cheek
“What if he doesn’t exist? What if I am chasing a dream?”