Damn you, Yasmine!

You made me do it. You insist­ed that I promise you that I’d read Break­fast at Tiffany’s, and so I did. I reserved it from the library and when I was in there the oth­er day they informed my that my book had arrived. This after­noon, I sat with a glass of water and a bowl of rice for a late lunch and com­menced to read.

Now I’m cry­ing, and I don’t even know why. I can’t stand it! I feel my heart has been torn out, like it’s me star­ing up at the emp­ty sky. But I don’t have a wild thing that escaped. Cat has a home, it seems, and a name. That’s the sad­dest part of all, but isn’t that what’s sup­posed to happen?

It seems so hope­less, so god damn hope­less. This sto­ry has bro­ken me and I can’t stop cry­ing and I don’t know how it should have end­ed to make me not sad. There’s no, “but if only…” the sto­ry is an emp­ty space where there’s sup­posed to be love from the very beginning.

I’m so angry! I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want this rush of despair that comes along with know­ing that it’s not even the answer that hurts, it’s the ques­tion. I don’t want the ques­tion and it won’t go away. You can’t make your­self not think of but­ter­flies, and I can’t unread Break­fast at Tiffany’s.

Some­one, some­one please make this go away.