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Jill is sitting and spinning, alone in her swivel chair (waiting
for the Jack who’ll never come back) and it’s
killing her not to do something (anything-because she’s sick of crying all the time).
Memories of skipping up hills and over heaven with her angel (laden down
with a full bucket, he’ll never fly for her again) taunt her and she’s remembering
how great he made her feel (she’s lost her Jack because he
didn’t trust her to keep her panties up when he wasn’t around (she may
be an attention whore, but
.him enough to expect him to trust her)) and now
all she can feel is the heartshards
cutting away at her h e a r t s t r i n g s-
(she’s destroying herself from the inside out (with her grief and regret))
all the while wishing he’d come back and
put her together again.
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