Last night, without further ado, suddenly and without ceremony, Manola erased every single message Mr. Thinks He's Huge left on her answering machine -- even though the sound of his voice, now that all was said and done -- made her wince in disgust.
She had been safe keeping these messages for some absurd reason that only the logic of scorned hearts can understand, or in the hopes that -- just in case -- he'd someday be the President of the United States and she could create a scandal like Monica Lewinsky, showing a stained dress as proof of the liaison.
Holding on to what is useless is easy. Letting go of what is useless is not.
All I know is this: don't step all over me man, because I'm not a doormat. But let me, woman scorned, step out courageously into that brave new world in a pair of bold heels, embracing a love I richly deserve and that I would never experience unless the answering machine was free to welcome messages from someone who would tread lightly, carefully and sweetly on my heart.
And in return, trusted lover, I may just succumb to your soothing voice, laying my dreams down, taking my heels off to walk barefoot with you by the shore of unknown seas.
he wishes for the cloths of heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread lightly because you tread on my dreams.
—William Butler Yeats, 1899