livingoutloud

She searches for my eyes when I walk into the room now. And I throw her a bone... a smile, a joke, a bland comment about the heat while we share a cigarette.
But I really just want to tell her to go home. To pack up her limp tounge, and her hard fake breasts, and her sickeningly sweet vanillla smell, and go home to her kids and her husband.
She was no distration, no diversion and most certainly no breakage. By contrast, she brought my focus to bear on exactly what I was trying to avoid. She did not serve her purpose, and now it will be another full week of late nights before I can be rid of her.