film

she was a shell.she laid half-dressed on the desk,her body's inability to enjoy she who yearned to pleasure her, was not usually her. the nervous sensations were impulses not transmitted to the brain to be etched as a memory encapsulating a moment of intimacy and passion. instead, they remained like a film; watched from a distance, her involvement but a role she played. but it was not like that. not really. not when the shell was un-empty.

regret would have her watch the film in her head, wishing it was her.