Dear Diary: A day in the life of a lonely vixen.

Dear Diary,

I sat there anxiously, as I whispered quietly to myself. “Abandonment, that is my greatest fear, because it is my greatest pain.”

The days move swiftly on, as I watch strangers pass, as though wanting to say something. It’s apparent that when we lose something, we hold on tightly to the next, for fear of losing it. However, I act with a great sense of absence, perpetual nervousness which allows me no grip. It makes me cold and distant. It leaves me forsaken and afraid.

I heal myself before I am healed.

I hurt before I am hurt, just to have them, leave before I am left.

I am a machine.

I am a heartless woman.

I am an old hag with a provocative figure.

Feel my cold hands which speak of desolate love, creep onto your chest. I’m tired of being the cursed party, exploiting a man’s love simply to abandon them in the manner of which I was left, alone and as bitter as an immature lime.

I met a young man a few years ago. He’s been after me ever since.

He’s a kind boy, a handsome boy, but I am a woman, a heartless woman.

One day, he showed up at my window and asked me for admission through my front door. I never understood why he didn’t just knock on the door in the first place. I asked him, but all he said was, “A prince always goes through the window.” He paused momentarily, as though wanting to say, “I love you,” but added, “And you’re my princess.” We became close friends and went to drive in shows, out for lunch to outdoor cafes and even volunteered together at local street fairs.

Last week, he was helping me rearrange my apartment. We worked all day, into the night. Growing weary we agreed he could stay on my sofa. The next morning he awoke me from my slumber to remind me I had to go to work. I thanked him, but I saw a horrified look on his face. He took a seat next to my awakening body, slightly lifted my shirt and asked, “What happened here?” He had found my door, the giant scar which held my controls. I felt the wooden dowels creep painlessly into his fingers, which lurked along my back. He had a warm touch and a tool kit. He was a kind mechanic.

- astruso.