Anita Kyne’s Reviews > Games: A Love Story > Status Update

And it's selfish, and it feels dirty, and it feels small -- like shame, flushed and heated: but she wants him to forgive her.

And there are her thoughts, and these are her actions, and here are her feelings: and there is her, responsible for everything, but feeling no power in that. And across the water, across the ocean, on another continent, in another city, is that man she could have had -- that she did have.

Ablutions of faith, gestures seeking a meaning, and Lili wonders about that: the trust in something futile, at least to her. Isn't that what faith is? Trust in futility?

This moan, an ache in her skin -- like she's searching for an entry would, praying there isn't an exit wound: that the bullet of him remains lodged in her, that these shadows of his grip, lingering heaviness, are hers to hold onto -- that the heat of his body is still inside of her, cleansing, in how he could make her feel like nothing, but a nothing he wanted --

...The sense of tiptoes around her, accommodating her. That hollowness persists. Distance between her skin that people tough and her inside of it.

Sometimes she wonders... -- if she died, would it hit anyone? Would the loss of her be a cataclysm for anyone? There'd be sadness, sure. Tears, grief, but she wonders if it would just be associative grief, in the end: the sadness of death in proximity, not the agony -- the obliterating, bone-collapsing pain that never really eases -- of real absence, after someone necessary to you leaves, is lost.

"The inherent vice of capitalism is the unequal sharing of blessings. The inherent virtue of socialism is the equal sharing of miseries."

Outside to closed Met “Is this a heist?”
“You seem to like art.”
“I do, but this isn’t what I agreed to — it’s closed anyway —“
“Not for us.”