Gethsemane Redux
an excerpt

Honey moved her hands away from the keyboard of her laptop computer and sat, staring at the brilliant white glow of the screen, a stark contrast from the darkness that surrounded her otherwise. She had decided that she needed to write, to pour out her feelings, to have the release that writing down her feelings gave her. She had forgotten what this had felt like. Pouring your soul out to an inanimate object, be it a notebook or a computer or whatever, and knowing that it would keep your most intimate secrets.

It had been a long time since she had confessed her feelings in such a manner, and, truth be told, she had not realized that she was ready to do so now.

And maybe she was not.

The words, staring back at her, were a black and white reminder of the jumbled thoughts that jumped around her confused and tired brain. These were confusing thoughts. Thoughts that she was not sure that she was ready to admit existed. But here, in black and white, they did exist. They could not be denied.

And Honey wanted to deny them. Now that they were out of inside of her, she wanted to take them back. To pretend that they did not exist. These words, wrought from her confused state in the middle of the night, should not exist.
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at the digital clock on her night stand. 3:24 in the morning. She should have been asleep hours ago. If she had been asleep, these words would not have screamed their way out of her head, through her fingers, and landed in black on the screen in front of her. They simply would not exist.

Honey could make them not exist.

With a flick of her wrist and the tap of an elegant finger, the words were gone. And, with a little amnesia, she could pretend that they never had existed at all.

The feelings behind them, she was afraid, would not be ignored so easily.