Things still happen even if you don't see them.

Several moments later she laughs and the realization occurs. Defiance is a rule. She leaves the room through arched doorways and lingers in an open space. Hard wood floor. Dimmed lights and a burnt rug. If you knew what shed been through... Pity and regret become her. Turn away. What if I told you none of this was real? Who would you be without your story? Well I don't think I'd actually exist. I mean, each day I tell myself the story of the person I am, without it I wouldn't even be here. It's all beside the point. It all lies directly beneath that teetering edge. Jump my friend. She levels off and stands straight. She doesn't know what's what anymore. She only knows fear and objectification, two truths her life has made meaning by. And there she was again, life in danger, the trusted untrustworthy and the poor actually rich. She was lied to and now she is falling. It's never a shorter distance to get back up again. Ever. There will always be a flight of stairs to take and the number of steps only increases and believe me, the lift never works. The lift of one night stands and makeup and shoes. You can try it out but you'll find that half way here the lift breaks down and you have to wait to be rescued and then start all over again. Stairs are hard but fail safe. My saving grace is love pennies. A majority still remain. Some have just been lost in the bet of love, some are still waiting for a preconceived result, but I keep them on just case. To be alone is to confront fear. I don't want to be afraid anymore.