untitled

Almost every hurtful memory I have stems from a woman named Sandra. I don’t know much about her but I have a rather interesting list of traits for her written in my mind. She is a beautiful woman, the kind that all men want to impress, and that all women are jealous of. She is confident, but obtains most of this confidence from different rendezvous with different men. They make her feel loved and cared for. Make her feel important, she needs to be needed. She has 4 beautiful children, none of which she knows anything about. Sandra should be considered slightly insane, but sometimes that’s what draws people to her. Whether those people are insane themselves, or if they are looking for a project to fix is unclear. What is clear though, is that friends and family will look at her and wonder what went wrong. How could they have possibly saved her from herself? We just wanted to bring her back home, if only for a short time. We all know she was bound to run again. We willingly accept this fact, becoming used to that empty space she leaves in our chest, every damn time she walks away.