A (very) brief extension of Seven Acts
(a.k.a. words that can't be said.)
(a.k.a. a moment that never fit anywhere but everywhere.)

He opens the door. The moment he turns to look at me, I've been reduced to a girl of seven. No longerseventeen and no longer wearing my heart on my sleeve. If only. As a girl who has just been reduced to a girl of seven, I hold my hand in my palm. And my hands are stretched out begging for somebody to take it- to take me.

I've got huge tears rolling down my cheeks. He steps forward and takes my hands in his and I collapse against his chest. I'm a girl ofseventeen again.

There are kisses everywhere.

There are kisses everywhere.

We're free-falling through space.

Him and I are awkward teenagers once more.

Who would have thought.

It's the butteryfly effect. A butterfly flaps its wings here, and somewhere halfway across the world there's a hurricane. A change of sorts. What they fail to mention is that the repercussions of that one, tiny butterfly flapping its wings here brings about a chage more dangerous than the one halfway across the world. That's because that one small flap sets in motion the gears for that butterfly to fly. And that, is more deadly than a hurricane.

This is not a story--not even close. This is the breakdown of a girl. This is the complete destruction of such a girl as she struggles to finmd herself. But, just like that butterfly, she'll realize everything will bring about some sort of change.

So here: witness the butterfly effect of a girl; witness her flgiht. Witness the effect of her Breakdown.