perhaps part of the jealousy of not being as important to someone as that someone is to me is actually shame. shame that i have been pulled so far over my toe hold in the earth, so far onto their side of the game with rope burn biting into my palms. perhaps i have learned to walk this path out from the open into the dark forest where power is exchanged. if i give to you my name, my self, i give to you my power. and you simply leave it sitting there, an unopened gift swept to one side amid all the prettier wrappings.

and so i begin to shift, to sink, slink slowly away from the noise and lights of the party and into the cool dimness of an unlit room where i hum to myself and dance waltzes with the shadows and wait for the noise and lights of the party to fall away so that i can leave softly in the night and stumble home. i cannot even muster a real spark of anger to warm me. i am just so very tired. and i curl and i curl and i close my eyes.