That is the way, that is away

"But I'm not ready to go away" she said. Her baggy eyes and puffy cheeks said otherwise. Some things need to end and some need to have never begun. Going away, when she was was away, or would be away, meant that everything on her mind would be able to harm her. When she was not away, that is, when she would be in a place other than here, here being semiconscious delirious limbo, her thoughts could come and go as they pleased, and she would not have to think about her thoughts, because they were locked away, safe inside her where they could do no harm. Once away, once it was dark and nothing was happening, they seeped. That is, her thoughts were no longer inside, no longer just thoughts. When a thought leaves your head and becomes real, then it is no longer a thought at all, and she knew that if they weren't thoughts, she would have to think about them.

This is where the harm comes in. While she was well aware that pain was excellent, that is, very good for her, she did feel that harm hurt her. That is, harm was not good. Here was good, away was bad. Away meant another tomorrow, where her head would be slowly cut away with a scalpel, that is, sharp blade or razor, and with sweeping motions this blade or razor, that is scalpel, would dig into her skin, crack into the plates in her skull and a spoon or possibly a bulldozer would then be used to put more stuff, that is, thoughts, in. Once in, they would surely come out because she would be not here, that is, away. Here was like a pillow or a jar od cherry jelly or a beloved elementary school teacher. That is, comforting. Away made her feel vulnerable and thoughtful, that is, thoughtless, that is, thoughtful.

She spoke out loud because there was no one to hear her and so speaking in her head would have been a terribly modest thing to do. One of the many stuffs, that is, thoughts, that here was keeping just a thought, was how ridiculously un-modest she was when no one was watching, that is, when she wished the world was watching.

She said she was not ready to go away not because she was not ready to go away, but rather because she did not want to go away, because away was bad and she felt weak. Feeling good was of great importance to her. "well..." she said, and sighed quietly. For she knew that the time was now, that is, the time for going away. "Oh, Fuck it all" she continued to whine. She looked at the bed, she propped up her head with the palm of her hand, she paused a few, that is, a great many beats to reflect on what she was about to do, and with that she said "I guess it's all one" put down her pencil, tunred off the light, and went away.