"I don't get people," she said.
"I mean, I get them, but I don't..."
"And They will never get me, unless I give to them 'me,' and I don't plan on giving 'me' to anyone.
If anything, they get ideas of 'me,' and that's it."
She managed to scratch at the space of her keyboard; the emptiness below the spacebar, realizing the irrelevant relevance between the two. Her eyes blinked with an ill-at-ease kind of blink; one of those you'd see protruded from the face of a convicted, or perhapsmaybeso just a fire trapped in a hearth.
"You don't know anything about me."
"It's not my fault you don't believe in anything other than your sexual organs. Not my fault you sit in front of screen after screen materializing your wet dreams into words, inseminating little literary ovums; not my dealings that you muddle up your realities; and I say realities because there are so many facets to you, I can't keep up."
A slight pause, a flashing li