Stefan– I put down the diary.
I find myself descending into her world and I can’t look away. I just wish I could change it. I’m destroyed by these words. I should have never read them. It isn't right.
But like a venomous serpent, the diary taunts me. It lies on my desk, still and misleading. I should ignore it; somehow I can’t. It looks pathetic. The binding is tattered and the cover is slightly smudged with Santa Fe chicken. Besides aimless doodles, I discern a word at the bottom–lost. And I think of her, that awkward woman who haunts me with her love.
Restless, I fetched a canned drink from the fridge. I nearly gagged from the taste; it was diet. Lisa always stocks up on them. She forgets what I like. That makes me think about Dreama. She knows how I like my sandwiches and what I drink. She never forgets that I like Chicken Tropical or that I don’t like peppers. And the way Lisa never remembers agitates me. But Dreama is a waitress. I suppose it is her job.
Why am I pacing around? She is just a waitress. I need to stop the insanity of this. She is a forbidden fruit and her diary is full of worms burrowing through my soul, capable of causing holes. But I pick it up and catch the seductive scent of perfume. It is her, and I’m the one suddenly feeling so lost.