In her future she will gaze at you across a feast of pleasant remarks and thirsty laughter and you will not know her.
You will not know her in the past when that very act drowned her at her dining room table amongst guests whose stares cursed her soul. Watching every bitter sweet taste.
What will she waste?
Presently she is tasting the idea of you, sweet. Palatable. She is swallowing her life one mouthful at a time patiently waiting for your heart
to be served.