sometimes i wonder if god keeps a record of all the times i have been left and all the times i have been unable to leave. i wonder if he thinks to himself "will she ever  learn?" as if he feels my heartache too. i picture god himself sitting at a desk with a mountian of crumpled papers at his feet with bags and dark circles under his eyes hunched over a typewriter with a furrowed brow beginning me again and again, but somehow he always ends up at the same part in the story where i am all ****** palms and and propped up on bruised knees spitting up blood and teeth at his feet screaming "IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!" But he doesn't answer.