"She
was a supernova...burning brightly until she burned herself out; known
to blame men, although she turned herself out. Never content with
possessions, she wanted different things. An angel unappreciative of her
talents, she wanted different wings. Beauty was her blessing, but it
became a curse; neglecting her mind, she depended on her looks first. As
time elapsed, perhaps the mishaps should have
nudged her in the right direction. But, when you're rationalizing right
to avoid the truth of being wrong, you won't want correction. And so
goes the story of the glory of the night: shrouded by darkness, so
lauded for being bright. No one ever inquires about how these fires
burn...but there's a clear difference between one that spreads and one
that yearns. The former uses what it takes; the latter takes what it
uses. The supernova was an artist, with makeup as paint and her flaws as
muses..."
-A. Lewis
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