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Rosa Bud

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theatrical_muse no. 1 [Apr. 23rd, 2006|07:28 pm]
Close your eyes and think about what you've been missing in your life
lately. It could be a person, pet, place, thing, occasion, feeling.
Anything at all that you miss dearly.


I ought, I suppose, to say I miss my Mama or my Papa, but the truth
is I truly cannot remember them terribly much at all. Of Mama, I
recall flowers and water and a summer gown all soiled by the river and
the mud. Of Papa, I recall only tugging at his sleeves and asking him
to play with me or to hold me, but he never would. I think Mama,
perhaps, shared my name. But none of these are things to miss, though
I daresay I missed them rather when first they were gone. But now, I
believe--of all the strange and foolish things!-- that I do miss Eddy
most of all. I have spent my entire life quarrelling with him, praying
that he would meet another girl or decide it was best not to have a
wife if one wanted to live in Egypt, hoping beyond hope that I would
somehow not be forced to spend my life with him. Yet now that he is
gone for good, thoughts of him consume my every moment. It hardly
seems like being properly alive without a letter or a visit from him--
I cannot rid myself of the expectation that one of his terrible, short
letters will arrive any day, or that he will no doubt come to call at
any moment. It is just like Eddy to be so very troublesome-- finally I
have rid myself of him, and now I want nothing more than to have him
back.
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