While my words slit the air around I imagine myself getting out of my body. And that girl is not who I am, But a mere reflection of the anger I felt. I wish I could just grab those words in midair, crumple and then throw them away. Slap myself over the mouth, and yell aloud: “Shut the fuck up!” But I ran. From the rage. From my own tale. Out the door and into rain. I ran. Though I didn't get far that day. And you, my love, found me on the stairs where I hid; “There you are!” you said. “It was cold outside.” “Come here.” Nestled in your warm embrace, I cried.