She tried to say she liked you. Damn it, look at you now, you fool, head in your hands, you suffer like no-one ever could. Time has moved mysteriously since she last saw your face. She was wild and insecure. You were an introvert, a bastard, a sweetheart. Grace was your friend, she pulled you out of the hole you dug so deep. Now you are distant, communication has shut down.
Today, Grace is stepping out, while someone new moves in to take her place. Forever watching the same repeats, living the same old shite. There she goes again, clasping her tales of woe.
Someone slap her quick, she is drifting, she's surrendering. Grace longs to tell you she is sorry. Thoughts dart back and forth. She is tied in knots. Her tears fall for you, guess you've hurt her some.
Grace, colourless and despondent, she feels like a blank page turning once in a while. Lend her your horse, let her ride away. Let her roam the world. She wants to have fun again, play cowboys and indians, play the damsel, play the whore, anything to escape her non-existence.
'It's no big deal' Grace tells herself, but she can't fight it. Grace is sick of the dreams. Sick to death of the stories. Sick to death of the bullshit.
Grace is thinking about her life, her plans. Out in the parking lot, is she looking for you? A gun in her hand, will she shoot? She counts down from ten. Sadness engulfs her.