Angst-ridden journal entry from somewhere in the black hole of Microsoft documents.

She had wanted a boy who would call her Baby, just like that, like a name and less that she was his child but she wanted that too, how could she want so much and how could he give it all and retain his importance? It was that importance with which she was unfamiliar. His hard bright egotism, his shining godlike self-obsession,  a deity to be worshiped from the very chalices of his knees and armpits, life span in the palms and a half-smile which were to be reckoned with, had it not been inwardly turned. Perpetual selfish sun. She was growing chill, but not for lack of trying. Smiling was trying, was difficult, when greeted with briefly raised brows. To adore the corners of his mouth, the peculiar indentions which were so perfect on each individual and yet always new, always to be adored and sweet as two honeysuckle drops. She turned up her cheek to his mouth four, five times. He turned his head and with pale blue eyes turned to the right, turned to the left, bent down, flashed up, everywhere but there, but at her eyes, her green to greet his blue. Not that hers were more beautiful; they were, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she had learned of efficacy, of power and the curve of an iris as of the horizon, slope of lashes and a strange heavy lidded look she had come across as if by accident. The clever other one had been complimentary. He’d said no one had ever looked at him that way before. She knew it was true. But this one, this hard bright looker, he did not accept the look. His came to be roaming, his eyes, frighting off the old.

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