Sailor Moon and all associated senshi are the property of Naoko 
Takeuchi, Kodansha, Bandai, and a whole bunch of other people I 
either don't remember or don't know about.  Everything else, 
however, belongs to me, and is guarded by my vicious attack 
gerbils.  If you wish me to call them off, please ask nicely.

Visit my website, Jelynne's Little Mess 
at www.crosswinds.net/~jelynne

To contact the author, please write to jlynne33@hotmail.com

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			4 A.M. - Memory
			By: Jelynne
			Rated: PG

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	This is me, dreaming.

	Well, not really.  This is actually me, unable to sleep, 
dreaming of the way I wish things had been.  It's not as if I can 
get away from what really happened.  I can't make myself forget, no 
matter how hard I try.

	I search for him in every guy I see.  I search, hoping I'll 
see him, and dreading that I will.

	I was stupid.  I was foolish.  I was young.  And I *let* 
him sink that knife in me and twist so hard that I still haven't 
healed.  Of course, it's not my only wound.  It's just one of the 
two that hurt the most.

	And even now I can't walk in the rain without remembering.

	And even now I can't forget the way he made me feel so 
beautiful, so wanted, so right.

				***

	I've always been a little too tall.  A little too strong.  
A little too different to quite fit in.  A little too alone.

	My mother taught me how to cook.  Always beautifully and 
with grace, she'd tell me, always sure in your heart.  Then it will 
always taste good.  She also taught me how to love.  With all my 
soul, and never less than that.  That's the way she loved my father 
and I.  That's the way I learned from her.

	And then she taught me how to get by without her.  How to 
be so utterly alone.

	My father didn't teach me much at all.  Except maybe how to 
live without him.  He was never home.  His job took him everywhere. 
Everywhere but back to his own doorstep.

				***

	Why did he decide to take mother with him that time?  Why 
momma, and not me?

	And what was so important that they had to take off, 
despite the storm?

				***

	I wonder if it would have been different if they were still 
here.  If I would still hurt when it rains.  If I would still 
blush, remembering him, despite the pain.

	Even now, I can feel my cheeks getting hot.  He always made 
me blush when I was with him.  Why not now too, now that I'm not 
anymore?  Now that I'm not useful to him as a way to draw attention 
to himself.  Now that he can't get anything more from me that he 
wants.

				***

	I think...

	I think tomorrow I'll go and find him.

	And then I'll punch him right in the mouth.