Click Clack Heels.

I don't know.

I don't know how to come up for air after you are hit in the gut so hard that it

completely

knocks you off your feet.

I don't know how to swim up through this.

I don't know how to recover from a side swipe that is so visceral.

Cradle me in your proverbial arms. Tell me I am the perfect fit.  Tell me I am brilliant, a rising star, that you are lucky to have me. Fill me with wine, cake and creature comforts.  Fly me to cities near and far.

Smile.

Whisper.

Tell me I can tell you anything.

Pry my mind open with a knife.

Take what you need, and laugh.

Smile and start to chip away at my softened exterior while my guard has been removed and sold as I thought I would no longer need it.

Chip away slowly, then scream. Then apologize.

Scream some more, threaten, cry and apologize once again.   Buy me lunch.

Buy us all lunch and force feed us your cake as you scream some more and stomp around in those click clack heels.

Take it all away without a sound.

Hello?  Is there anything left but an echo and a shell?