I stepped near the pool, the night sky casting it’s familiar mood upon the concrete surrounding the crystaline blue water. A lone figure lightly kicking her legs, water up to her knees. Her porcelain skin covered by gaurish gashes, bruises, wounds that had not yet healed. I sat next to her, nothing and everything on my mind at once, though her focus seemed intent on fixating itself on some harsh reality, stuck in it’s own cycle. I could tell she was hungry, a plate of rare steaks, bloody sat beside her. I felt my usual tredepdation, I worried her hunger would not be satisfied, not that the plate would ever run out. She grabbed one with her clean bare hand, a bite, before returning it to the plate. A few drops of blood hit the water, a ripple expending unendingly, her pain and need attempting to branch out to the far reaches of the Universe. Again, I looked at the plate, no bites had been taken, her hunger still the same. I greeted her as I had many times before, our voices a soft whisper compared to our public composure. We had our usual spat, the water and it’s unhealthy nature, pruning, her not being ready yet. So, when the time was right, I left. But through my days, just as before my legs were wounded as well, the disgust of seeing it welling up inside until eventually it became too much to bare. Again, as always I came to the pool, again she was there and again her mind was as it had been so many times before, blissful,pent up,anxious and wandering. I sat in the pool, not uttering a word, this time she greeted me, she gave me my own words and when all was right, she left instead of me. My own place for my legs, my own plate of steaks, my own ripples. They come in, they come out, trading places round a roundabout. If you could see what I want to be, you’d understand why I don’t like me.