forthebook's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- seeing another There was a woman who ate at The Restaurant the other night with her father. I sat her, gave her menus and, for the briefest of moments, glanced at her wrist adorned with three new cuts and a painful lifetime of old ones. After that I couldn't stop staring at her everytime I passed through the dining room floor. The familiarity stung something awful. The way she held her utentsils, her glasses, her menu - arms turned downward, inward; subtle differences that no one but someone else who knew would notice as odd. As soon as I saw her cuts, before I saw her scars, I knew. Just as I knew with L. and he knew with me. Just as I knew with J. and he knew with me. I wondered if she noticed my ankles or my scars or the way I crossed my legs to the side while I stood at the hostess stand. I wanted to tell her it was okay. That things would be better. That she would be okay. But how could I say that when I don't know it? 11:06 a.m. - 2006-07-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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