It helped her.

“I Hate You.” (It was in her eyes, that’s when things become real.)

She looked at me, said “do you want me to call you?” “Yes.” And then turned out of the car.

She could have well said to herself “Well I won’t be” smiling as she ran to the toilet, but that’s just pessimism.

Well I love you. (And that’s not optimism.)

Maybe she just meant “call you (in-the-general-vacinity-of-soon)”. Maybe, or, could not be. But that’s just me being a realist.

Ist-ist-ist.

Ism-ism-ism.

If everything is gone now, I can at least say “I Knew Her.” And if it’s not? We grow together.

Here I am. If you ever need me, seriously.

Here I Am.