the clouds looked like they were suspended there by strings. and you were the puppet master for this show. you called all of the shots and there was nothing that I, as a simple puppet, could do. you were hypnotic, mesmerizing me as I followed your every instruction as you moved your hands about. that's all that it took; a simple hand movement. I couldn't stop myself, I really couldn't help it. I had no choice but to fall into your every word and trust that every action you performed was for me. my heart. my soul. my well being. however, you were truly only putting on a show. it was for audiences' entertainment. it was never for me, or even remotely about me. you then retired from your position as a puppet master and moved on. as you have left me sitting on this shelf, I am tortured by her presence in your life. yet I am but a puppet, your puppet, and I cannot seem to break this spell. if only I were like Pinocchio. maybe if I were a real girl, you'd love me too. -hvj
