She Dreamt She Was Alone in an Empty Field

S. K. Nicholas

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My body is a mess of semi-erotic fantasies, and editing words shame me for being so naive. All those memories put between the pages of a book; it’s an honor to remember the past, and yet it only emphasizes how weak I am. In my head, I’m forever. On paper, I lack magic in every area. Drinking to numb the disappointment, I light a cigarette and stare at the wall opposite my desk. I stay like this for the best part of an hour. There’s nothing else to be done other than to contemplate my failures with silent despair until the wine kicks in and my head begins to sway. So many pieces written showing nothing other than a lack of ability. So many thoughts best left to wither and die like so many before them. Leaning back in my chair, I think of the girl who was flirting with…

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