For such a little girl I sure am strong.

And she looked up at the sky and screamed, "Hey you, guy in the sky. I think we have a bad connection." She glanced down at her bright green Converse, then shot her thought filled eyes back towards the sun. And even though the iris's of her eyes burned she continued to stare until she blurted out, "I think I am going to hang up, I don't plan on calling back."
No response. Like she expected one. A bolt of lighting probably wouldn't shake the look of disgust, disappointment and despair out of the gray eyes in which they were held.
Feet plastered to the pavement made her ponder where she would travel to next. The scene in front of her was nothing more then a myth in three dimensional building form. The cross no more then just a T that couldn't decided whether it wanted to be upper or lower case.
Tears strolled down her cheeks. The sweatshirt her late boyfriend gave her had now become a tissue. Late, the word has many meanings. Not late for a date, or last and latest. He was gone. But surprisingly enough this loss wasn't the reason she had decided to give up any shred of faith, if you could call it that, that she had left.
She prayed, before this day of course. For what? Who knows? Happiness, no. She prayed for insanity. She wanted to relive the life that she had already lived. This past life was horrid, abusive, tear filled. She wanted to do it over, but she knew she would get the same result. Insanity, doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.