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In the end the bright colors always go out of life, have you ever noticed that? In the end things always look gray, like a dress that’s been warshed too many times.
All I can say is that I was findin out that there’s no way you can prepare yourself for a broken heart. You just have to keep marchin forward and hope like hell it doesn’t happen.
I didn’t want her lookin at me with those tearful eyes of hers, wantin what I guess every kid wants, for everything to be made right but with no pain and nobody hurt. Wantin me to make promises I couldn’t make, because they were promises I didn’t know if I could keep.
It’s funny, the little things that finally push a person into makin up her mind – sendin her from could-do to might-do to will-do, so’s to speak.
‘Sometimes you have to be a high-riding bitch to survive,’ she says. ‘Sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hold onto.’ And then she closed the door in my face . . . but gentle. She didn’t slam it.
I’m sixty-five, and I’ve known for at least fifty of those years that most of what bein human’s about is makin choices and payin the bills when they come due.
‘This is how. This is how you pay off bein a bitch. And it ain’t no use sayin if you hadn’t been a bitch you wouldn’t’ve had to pay, because sometimes the world makes you be a bitch. When it’s all doom n dark outside and only you inside to first make a light n then tend it, you have to be a bitch. But oh, the price. The terrible price.’