Heart To Heart Day!

She'll tell you she doesn't think she can go on with having so little money for much longer, that she's not as young as she used to be and she's going to need to get some comfort pretty soon.

"I'm just so very tired."

She'll tell you she's always cold, that every night she hugs the empty space in bed beside her and it's like clutching onto a block of ice or something long dead.

"A giant shiny bullet. And I hug its perfect curves to my belly and my chest and I wrap my legs around its trunk and I go stiff. I fall asleep like that, stone stiff."

Like the blood in her veins just stopped right where it was with a squeal of the brakes, she'll say. She'll tell you she hasn't cried in a year. That she's always aware of when she's smiling. That when she's at a party, standing with a group of three or more people, trying to appear like she's listening, she sometimes yelps.

"I'm losing control."

An oil painting will fall from the wall of the café smack down on the top of your head. The 5 by 4 foot canvas will rip and your head will poke through the gap. The painting will rest balanced on your shoulders, the shards of canvas climbing up your neck like a jester's collar. The frame will be heavy and you won't be able to breathe that well.

She'll laugh. You'll smile and struggle to pull the painting up over your head. Her laughter will turn to a wail. Not quite a howl. Not quite a scream. Just a deep AAAAAAAAAAAAGH flying out of that little black haired head. But she'll be smiling while she lets it fly. You won't ask if she's aware that she's smiling, the poor thing.

Happy Heart To Heart Day!