Cats eyes

None of her problems were particularly important, but anything described as painful by her regardless of how much, was always greeted with the most tender attention by any man because she was beautiful. She learned to be able to describe anything she needed in terms of tragedy in this way. At the same time all the important problems, the ones worth really facing were left undone because in order to describe them in the first place she would have to face something alone, since this was not a thing anyone could do for her no matter how insightful the helper, and so they never got known by her or anyone. And so she continued on life this way, getting older, unknowingly drowning in a ever rising flood of ignorant sleeping wasted cruel unconsciousness

I know you hear the voices clearly, words I only hear as a distant hum. I know you can see my slow turning pain like a cats eyes in the darkness, you know things about human life from your strange experience living on the shores of this land and eating the fruits of this jungle and you own philosophies that I don’t have. I know this, I know this, which way do I turn, which way do I run now? How can I escape you when every touch brings me to my knees, every bruise heals me. How do I outrun the hunter?

I walked and walked and walked. Waves chased my feet and flies chased my shoulders and the memories of you chased my shadow.