She, the one that is nearly in her late twenties and always lacking deodorant, wants Him, the tallest, smartest and gloomiest at the party, to fall in love with her. And He, having just reached thirty and still nowhere near being able to sleep alone, really would like her, skinny, funny and lost, to fall in love with HIM also. The other she, dark blond with a tendency to overshare and feel other peoples feelings, is standing behind the Plexiglass, observing. She has just learned what unhappiness feels like. But she doesn’t feel stuff in public. That’s a rule. The crowd is chatting, the three of them only a fragment of the scene. She (as in the one) is smiling at Him. So that He writes poems about her.
She (as in the one behind the plexiglass) wishes for the ground to be less dirty. For her to feel something other than greed and resentment.
He wants her (as in the one) to be obsessed with Him. For His sake. So He has a reason to stop chasing. Escape the circle. Forget about GOD. And BUDDHA. He wants to want the house with the front yard.
She (as in the one) would like Him to want to look behind her facade. See her shriveled soul, see that her political beliefs are only half as serious as portrayed, see the moldy cake that is lying between her mattress and her bed case and have a reaction. The reaction not being indifference, please.
She (as in the one behind the plexiglass) is trying hard to find her worth somewhere. Every time she cries about the impossibility of it her therapist tells her to put her mask back into place.
He looks at her now behind that Plexiglass. He looks at her big ass, her accentuated tits, at the wrinkles around her eyes. They are underlined by the mass of concealer that she applied clumsily, already knowing she will not shine with natural beauty tonight. He looks at her and suddenly wants to fuck her. Wants to fuck her after snorting at least one gram in less than an hour. Wants to fuck her for so long that her moans will begin to sound like pain. Wants to fuck her until she will be begging, begging Him to stop because she already got so dry that it hurts and makes her pussy smell like fish. He knows it’s mostly His fault when pussy starts to stink. But only violence gets Him horny. So at this point He only gets a boner when He smells fish. He is still standing there, among the crowd, imagining to fuck her right then and there between all their friends.

He loses respect for her just by thinking about it. Why would she spike fantasies like that in Him? She must really hate herself. Then He looks over at her (as in the one) and thinks about how He’d love to get jealous. How He’d love to turn, see her talking to other guys and then feel something in his chest. He finds the lack of feeling in his chest, the fact that He has to wank for at least 20 minutes to release and the fact that He’s still sober right now so very fucking exhausting.
She (as in the one behind the plexiglass) would like a moment of privacy to kiss her forearm. To remind her of her smell. A reminder that something lives behind that bland Plexiglass. She feels His eyes on her still and now hers (as in the one) too. Instead of her arm she now smells the air burning beyond her Plexiglass. She (as in the one) is looking away from her because a friend asks her what she thought of the news today. Oh boy. She sheds a tear about politics but also because her eyes have become so dry from staring at the Plexiglass intensely for such a long time. She thinks about domesticating animals and how she hates it in theory but feels soothed by it in practice. She (as in the other) is sure that the only mistake she made was in her head. And now she can’t sleep, can’t attract, can’t get rid of the Plexiwall. She sees He wants to fuck her but she doesn’t dare to move, too afraid to show her lack of self worth. Nobody wants to fuck somebody that shows no self respect. So vivid. So pure. So unable to hide. So perceptible people want to humiliate her as well, join the party of her lifelong self deprecation. They might enjoy the first five minutes but then they would get uneasy having their own desire to torment exposed. And also where’s the fun without the victim resisting? HE turns to her (as in the one), tells her that they should go. That He wants to whisper in her ear all night. Saying her name. Over. And over. And over. And over. Again. She (as in the one) looks at her (as in the one behind the plexiglass) and smiles. The Plexiglass turned pink by then and she (as in the one) wants to buy her an instant cake, a new concealer and a tight tight leggings so she has the best life that she can have. She (as in the other) knows that nobody will give a shit if she finds it. Her worth. So she stays there, behind her wall and kisses her forearm. And she smells amazing.